


Verraden

by shadowsamurai



Category: Waking the Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Drama, Drug Use, Explicit Language, Gen, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Canonical Violence, Original Character(s), Rape/Non-con References, Sexual Violence, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-12
Updated: 2012-07-12
Packaged: 2017-11-09 20:26:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 41,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsamurai/pseuds/shadowsamurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, one's native tongue is simply not strong enough for the curse one wishes to inflict on one's enemies, and as Boyd tried to share the sickening truth of what had happened to his rescuer, a single word fell from his charred and cracked lips: Verraden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Escape

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Post-S5, but nothing specific.  
> So, I like to challenge myself, and this story has taken me completely out of my comfort zone, not to mention the characters as well. It will be a dark!fic, with strong language, blood, gore and violence mentioned in detail in some chapters, just in case you're squeamish.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I'm just borrowing things for a while and I promise I'll put everything back exactly how I found it when I've finished. Well, almost exactly how I found it. ;)

 

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

Inky black night seeped into the corners of his vision, blotting out the stars one by one. The rain, hard and cold, pelted his skin relentlessly, stinging with every stroke, each blow reminding him of his failures, his blunders, his mistakes. The whipped at his ragged clothes, exposing his numerous wounds to the elements, the blood clotting instantly, hardening as ice began to form. With grim determination, he struggled forwards, pulling himself along with a two-fingered hand, the bloodied, fleshy stumps of the missing digits scraping the floor with each lurch, the other arm mangled almost beyond recognition, simply being dragged along with the rest of his battered body. The sand and gravel stuck to all of his open wounds, digging in, burrowing under the skin, adding to the already blindingly painful friction. Through his half open eye, he could see light and plenty of it, and that was what he was aiming for; even though his brain was clouded with agony and drugs, he knew it meant he was close to civilisation, although the chances of the first person he came across simply taking one look at him and screaming was high. He looked like the crawling dead, and that was probably true, for he felt more dead than alive, and if circumstances had been different, he would have succumbed to the darkness that threatened to engulf him.

But he carried on, his one good eye leading him, although if he'd had the strength, he would have laughed at such an absurd statement. 'Good' meant he could see through it, but the vision was blurry, clouded. He could see light and dark, basic shapes, and nothing more, but he was lucky to have even that. His other eye was welded shut with several days' worth of congealed blood, a large purple-black bruise emerging from the edges, yellow pus tinged with green leaking from the cracks. The same side of his face was in tatters, the exposed bone of his cheek gleaming in the dull moonlight, the remaining skin blackened, the wounds having been seemingly cauterised instantly.

He paused, his breath coming in short gasps, the hole in his lung making fountains of blood on the pavement, his broken ribs creaking with the effort his body was putting in to simply staying alive. Gritting his cracked jaw together, trying not to touch his tongue to the roof of his mouth, he started forwards again, pulling the fresh scabs from the burns on his dick off. He wanted to shout out in pain, let all the frustration he was keeping inside go, but he knew if he did that, any ounce of remaining strength would flee as well.

Then suddenly, like a miracle, he heard footsteps pounding towards him, gentle hands telling him to stop moving, letting him know he was safe. A voice that he dimly recognised started speaking, but he was too tired to reply, save for a simple indication of what had occurred.

Sometimes, one's native tongue is simply not strong enough for the curse one wishes to inflict on one's enemies, and as Boyd tried to share the sickening truth of what had happened to his rescuer, a single word fell from his charred and cracked lips:

"Verraden."

TBC


	2. Frays

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*10 days previously...*

Eve delivered her breakthrough with a flourish, but it wasn't met with the enthusiasm she was hoping for. Everyone sat and stared, as though they were waiting for her to continue. Realising they clearly thought more was to come, she sighed and tried not to look disappointed.

"That's it."

Her words were met with stony silence from the team, and an uncomfortable few moments passed until Boyd finally spoke up. "That's it," he repeated slowly.

Eve found herself growing exasperated by the second. "I'm not a miracle worker, Boyd," she replied. "At least I've proven that he *was* at the crime scene, and that he was in contact with the deceased that very day, probably within an hour of the murder."

"But you can't tell us whether he's the murderer or not."

"That's your job. My job is simply to read the evidence and present you with the forensic findings."

"And once again, they're bloody useless!" Boyd snapped.

"Don't blame the forensics for your shortcomings as a police officer, Boyd," Eve replied scathingly.

Grace, ever the peacemaker, held her hands up and spoke loudly before the DSI could retort. "Look, this isn't getting us anywhere. At least we've got something a little more tangible to work with."

"Not really," Stella disagreed. "All it does is confirm what Evans has already told us. He admits to being in Brent's house the day Brent died, and all we've done is to prove that. It doesn't get us anywhere."

Eve sat down, her arms folded across her chest, her expression icy. "Fine. Why don't *you* try and come up with a lead for a change instead of sitting there criticising?"

"We *did* come up with a lead," Spencer snapped. "*We* found out that Evans alibi for the murder was false, and that no one actually knows where he was!"

"Good for you, Spence, and how far did it get you?" Eve asked sarcastically.

Spencer glared at her. "Why don't you go back to the crime scene and check it again? You might   
just have missed something."  
Eve's face went white, except for two spots of colour on her cheek, the only evidence of her anger as her voice was calm. "You bloody..."

"You know, after you came back in from one of your many fag breaks," Spencer continued relentlessly, "You might have got confused as to where you stopped, and you could have missed something." His tone was dripping with disdain.

Grace snorted derisively. "This from the ex-smoker. How many times did you 'miss something' because you had to go and satisfy your nicotine addiction, Spence?"

"That's not the issue!"

"And neither is the quota of cigarettes that Eve smokes!" Grace said. "The problem here is the simple fact that we're all pissed off because we're not getting anywhere, and that's no one's fault. There's just something we've overlooked or not thought of. It could be the tiniest thing"

"No one's fault?" Boyd repeated incredulously. "And how do you work that one out, Grace? As far as I'm concerned, everyone on this team is at fault!"

"Even you?" the profiler asked scornfully.

"Of course I'm bloody well at fault for putting this team together in the first place!" Boyd yelled. "Eve's input to this case so far has been next to useless, telling us absolutely *nothing* we didn't already know. Your input, Dr Foley, *has* been useless; you've contributed fuck all to this investigation besides your usual worthless psycho-babble shit. And you two...." He looked disdainfully at Spencer and Stella. "If you worked together instead of bitching every five seconds, things would run a lot smoother around here. And DI Jordan, the working day starts at nine in the morning, not ten or eleven."

"*She's* the reason I was shot, *sir*!" Spencer shouted back, jabbing a finger at Stella. "Do you expect me to just forget that?"

"I expect you to act like an adult," Boyd replied, his voice quiet and calm again.

Eve laughed loudly. "Do the words 'pot', 'kettle' and 'black' mean anything to you, Boyd?"

"Does the word 'redundant' mean anything to you?" he retorted.

Grace stood abruptly. "Boyd. A word. *Now*."

"Only one? That makes a change," he said as he followed her.

"Why, Boyd?" Grace asked in exasperation as soon as the door to her office was shut, gesturing with her hands. "*Why* do you *always* have to alienate people, especially the team? Do you get some sort of kick from seeing us all riled up and knowing you're responsible for it?"

"That's just it, Grace, I am responsible!" Boyd shouted back. "If we fuck up, it's my head that'll roll! I just want everyone to pull their weight; is that too much to ask?"

"I don't know why she bothers," Spencer stated as he stared at Boyd and Grace arguing in the profiler's office.

"Maybe she's a masochist," Eve offered.

"Or simply addicted to frustration," Stella added.

The pathologist rolled her eyes and looked at the DC. "It amounts to the same thing."

"There's no need to be condescending," Stella retorted huffily.

"I wasn't, I was merely furthering your education," Eve replied.

Stella glared at the pathologist and swore in French. "Alright, ladies, calm down," Spencer said, trying to mediate. "Stella, make us some coffee, would you?"

She swore again. "Do it yourself," she told him heatedly, pushing her chair back angrily as she stood up. "Just because I'm only a DC doesn't mean you have to treat me like a slave! And just because we had problems before doesn't mean you can punish me for the rest of my life! If you want coffee, do it your damn self!" And with that, she stormed out of the room.

Eve held her hands up. "Don't look at me, I belong in the lab, not working as a skivvy."

"Then maybe you should get back there and do some work," Spencer snapped irritably.

"The only one not pulling their weight around here, Boyd, is you!" Grace yelled, their argument continuing regardless of the problems developing out in the squad room.

Boyd stared at her coldly, but instead of replying, he walked out of her office and into his own, returning a few moments later with a rumpled sheet of paper. "You think I'm sitting around here on my arse for the fun of it?" he asked. "I wasn't going to bring this up, but since you seem to think I'm a lazy bastard, here's my reason."

Tentatively, Grace took the paper from him, suddenly scared about what it might say. Her face paled as she read it. "Oh my God. Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded to know.

"It wasn't any of your business," he replied.

Grace could only stare at him, his words shredding her heart and leaving what was left of their friendship in tatters. "It wasn't...." She shook her head disbelievingly. "Boyd, Michael Evans is a notorious gangster. He wouldn't threaten your life just for the hell of it!"

"Don't you think I know that?" Boyd snapped back. "But as long as I stay out of the way, the investigation can continue."

"And you don't think the rest of the team are capable of that without you standing behind us all with a whip," Grace remarked dryly.

"Well so far you've all done such a wonderful job," Boyd said sarcastically.

Grace folded her arms, her expression becoming serious and thoughtful. "I've been thinking about that, Boyd," she replied, sitting down, a sign that she wanted a truce in hostilities. "Do you ever get the feeling that this investigation is being sabotaged?"

Boyd also sat down and tried to look casual. "What do you mean?"

"I've been doing some background research into Michael Evans, and I'm sure while you've been sitting in your office, you've been doing the same, so what I'm about to say probably won't come as a surprise."

"How did you know I'd been researching him?"

Grace smiled slightly. "Because you can't just sit and do nothing. It isn't you," she told him, and he acknowledged her point with a nod. "This isn't the first investigation into his actions. In fact, there isn't just one file on him, there are several, and all would make better bricks for throwing through windows than an actual brick would."

"They are quite comprehensive," Boyd agreed.

"That's just my point. We know almost everything about the man, including that he's a criminal mastermind, yet no charges have ever been brought against him," Grace continued. "Even with the most watertight evidence, he escapes justice."

Boyd looked pensive, his eyes staring at a spot on the wall just behind Grace. "You think he's paid people...police officers off."

"Or blackmailed them. I mean, it wouldn't be the first time. And the fact that you have a reputation for being as straight as a ruler means you're a threat."

"So to keep me from actually doing a good job, Evans tries to bully me instead," Boyd said.

Grace nodded. "That would be my guess. It's also possible that we have a chance of nailing the bastard with something."

"Like Brent's murder," Boyd stated, and the profiler nodded. "You said you thought *this* investigation was being sabotaged. What makes you think that?"

"Because you and I both know that this team is damn good at their job, Boyd," she replied. "Eve does *not* miss things, and while Stella might have made a bad decision...."

"One?" Boyd asked.

Grace ignored him. "...Before, she's tried very hard to put things right, and she isn't one for letting things just slip away from her. Spencer's the same. If there's an answer to be found, we will find it, and we would usually have done so by now."

Boyd ran a hand through his hair. "You know what you're suggesting, don't you." It was an unequivocal statement, and most certainly not a question.

"Yes, I do," Grace replied calmly. "Either someone higher in the chain of command than you is deliberately blocking this case, or someone on the team is."

TBC


	3. Capture

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

"Grace, a word, please," Boyd said quietly.

It was the following morning and their collective temper tantrums seemed to have abated, at least for the time being. In fact, everyone was being overly nice and polite to each other, and it grated on Grace's nerves more than the constant bitching, so much so that she had retreated to the relative quiet and safety of her office. Until Boyd had come calling. Right now she just didn't know how to take him; he blew hot and cold like a faulty boiler, with no regard for anyone around him. Yesterday had been a perfect example. One minute he was raving like a lunatic, the next holding a civilised conversation with her. It was unnerving and stressful, and not for the first time, Grace thought about ducking out of the rat race while she still could, of escaping the insanity that masqueraded as her job, because she knew that sooner or later she would snap, and even in the dark recesses of her mind, Grace didn't want to even contemplate or consider the outcome of such a situation.

"Now, Boyd?" she asked with a sigh.

"Yes." He turned and walked back to his office, which irked her even more.

"Why couldn't we talk in my office?" Grace asked irritably as she finally sat down in front of him.

Boyd looked at her. "I didn't realise it made a difference."

"It doesn't, but since we were both already in that room, I don't see why we had to come over here."

He stared for a moment, apparently deciding whether or not he wanted to pursue the matter, and finally decided it wasn't worth it. "About what we discussed yesterday," he said. "I want it to stay between us. It's just an unsubstantiated theory so far, and *if* it happens to be true, I don't want the snitch being tipped off. *If* you're right, I want to catch the bastard with his hand in the cookie jar."

There was something about Boyd's tone of voice that irked Grace, bringing her mulish streak to the surface, and the urge to goad him into an argument was just too tempting to resist. She knew it was stupid, knew that pushing his buttons would do neither of them any good, but she was suddenly tired of letting him be the one to start these things. For once, she wanted him to understand what it was like being on the receiving end.

"I've been thinking about that 'theory', as you put it," Grace started in a deceptively mild tone.

Boyd looked at her. "And?"

"And I think there's substance to it. I can also narrow the culprits down to a choice of two people."

"Go on," Boyd said, leaning forward onto his desk, his expression interested.

"Stella, for obvious reasons, and you," Grace replied.

It was a thought, nothing more, one she had always vowed to keep in her head, one she *never* intended on voicing, yet she had just done the one thing she promised herself she would never do. When they encountered Vincent Peverell, Grace didn't believe for a second that Boyd would have ever allowed himself to be bribed by such a character. Boyd was a lot of things, and not above bending the rules whenever he felt about it, not to mention getting rough with witnesses and suspects, but he was definitely not dirty or bent. But then, last year, with the Eddie Vine case, Grace had started to have doubts, especially when Boyd said he carried the money around with him for days. She just couldn't bring herself to believe that he hadn't spent a single penny of it at all; maybe he'd spent a little, but not the rest. That would be more likely than his story that he burnt every single note. But it had never mattered because Grace was never going to bring the subject up; now, in the subzero atmosphere of Boyd's office, it was all that mattered.

"Pardon?" Boyd asked, his voice so glacial it made the Arctic look like the Sahara.

Grace shook her head. "Forget it, Boyd."

"Like hell I will!" He slapped his hands on the desk as he pushed himself abruptly to his feet, and Grace knew his next move would be to walk round and tower over her, trying to intimidate her. But she was sorely disappointed. He just stood there, staring at her, his nostrils flaring, his face white with anger. "You think that I would... After everything this team has been through, you have the balls to accuse me of...."

"I'm not accusing anyone of anything," Grace replied, trying to keep a handle on the situation. "All I said was if I was asked who I would suspect, it would be you and Stella."

Boyd dropped his hands to the table and his voice to a whisper at the same time. "And who would ask? Or who would you tell?"

"Boyd, forget it," Grace repeated, suddenly afraid of what might happen. Afraid of being *made* to walk out of the offices, never to return. When it was her choice, it was different, but now it looked as though the decision was going to be made for her.

"No, I won't. You obviously want to talk about this, Grace, so out with it," Boyd told her firmly. "What makes you think I would ever betray this team and compromise an investigation? What reason have I ever given...?"

Again, the little switch in Grace's head that said 'enough's enough' flicked, and she found herself becoming easily riled. "You've given plenty of reasons, Boyd!" she shouted at him. "How many cases have you actually played by the book? How many times have you bent the rules, or broken them completely, just to get a result?"

"That doesn't...."

"It's exactly the same!" Grace replied before he could finish. "The Whitewater case, you almost blew that because you withheld evidence! What about Steven Hunt? You *did* blow that case because you allowed an innocent woman to be killed by him! Do you want me to go on?"

Boyd had sat back down and his hands were clasped together on top of his desk, his knuckles gleaming white in the artificial light. "You might as well seeing as you're on a roll. Please, don't let me stop you."

She didn't. "The Joanna Gold case...."

"My instincts were good," Boyd defended himself.

"Your instincts might be, Boyd, but your conduct is shit!" Grace shouted at him. "If anyone else had acted like that, they'd have been out on their ear in seconds, but not you. No matter what you do wrong, you're still in power. Why is that?"

"I'm good at my job. And I don't like your insinuations."

"I haven't made any, I just asked a question."

He stood up abruptly. "If you've got an accusation to make, Dr Foley, then make it!" he bellowed.

Grace also stood up and stared him down. "Fine, DSI Boyd, I will! I think you're a lying, yellow bastard! I think you *did* take bribes off both Vincent Peverell *and* Eddie Vine, and God knows who else! Bollocks to your story that you didn't. The only way someone like you is still working is because they're paid up with the right people, which means you're in this up to your eyeballs and you've got no place investigating someone like Michael Evans!" Grace moved imperceptibly closer to him, not even flinching under his glare. "In fact, that threatening letter you showed me yesterday is the perfect cover for you! While we're all out of the office working, you're stuck here, oh, how very convenient for you. Plenty of time to tamper with the evidence, mislay pieces of paper containing important information. After all, who would suspect you? Peter Boyd, poster boy for everyone who's fucked up in the world."

"Do you really think that if I was behind this idiotic idea of yours that I'd conjure up something as pathetic as a letter?" Boyd shouted back, gesturing as he usually did when he was in a rage. "Do you think I'm so stupid that I think something like that would be 'the perfect cover'? Get real, Grace! Christ, if I really was on the payroll of someone like Evans, I'd invent a kidnapping instead, which would really get me off the hook! I'd make sure that his goons caught me and demanded the investigation be stopped or they'd kill me. *That's* how I'd play things *if* I was as bent as you're trying to make out I am!"

There was a knock on the door.

*"What?"* Boyd reached the very top of his voice rang with that one word, temporarily deafening both himself and Grace, and there was a very long pause before the door opened.

"Sorry to disturb you, sir," Stella said, visibly pale and shaking, but neither Grace nor Boyd had calmed down sufficiently to feel sorry for her.

"What do you want?" Boyd asked ungraciously when he realised no further information was forthcoming from the DC.

"We have a lead, sir," Stella replied, gulping. "Well, not so much a lead, more like some more information that might help us to see the bigger picture. We just thought we should let you know. Sir." The words came out quickly, tumbling over one another like pebbles in the rapids of a fast-moving stream.

Boyd fixed her with his best glare. "We'll be out shortly." As soon as they were alone again, he turned to Grace. "Have we finished or is there something else you'd like to accuse me of?" Then he held a hand up. "Or even better, why don't you lodge a formal complaint against me?"

"I don't want to do that," Grace told him, Stella's interruption having at least deflated her. All the fight in her had simply vanished into thin air, but she knew Boyd wouldn't relent. He wouldn't be able to just give up, let it all do; it wasn't his style. And this time she wasn't disappointed.

"No, I can imagine you don't, probably because your accusations have about as much basis as your psychological profiles do," Boyd snapped, knowing full well he was delivering a killer blow and not caring in the slightest.

He knew that he and Grace had never seen eye to eye on certain things, and that they never would, but he never, not for an instant, thought that she would brand him as a coward or a traitor, and the fact that such doubts had not only entered her mind, but had obviously been there for some time, had shaken Boyd badly, and he reacted the only way he knew how to: by lashing out.

As he saw tears start to well in Grace's eyes, Boyd knew the argument was finally over, at least for a while. "I believe the team has some news for us," he said in a conversational tone, heading across the room and out of his office without even waiting for a reply or to see if she was following him. "What's this information you have for us?"

Everyone looked up, but no one wanted to speak first. "Shouldn't we wait for Grace, sir?" Spencer asked eventually.

Boyd glared at him. "Grace knows you've got information to share. She'll be in when she's ready. Now, are you going to tell me what you've found or should I just go back into my office until you're ready?"

Spencer swallowed the retort that hovered on his lips. "We've been collating the evidence from the previous investigations into Evans' actions, and we think Brent was working for him. The last investigation clearly shows that Brent was pulled in for questioning half a dozen times over a protection racket Evans was supposed to be running," he explained, pausing only briefly as Grace joined them. He took note of her red eyes and puffy face, but didn't say anything because there was nothing to say. Nothing would make any difference to anything, so he simply continued with his speech. "During questioning, it was noted that Brent seemed to be holding back, but the team running the investigation couldn't crack him. We checked the other investigations, and Brent's name came up in half of them."

"And why wasn't this connection noticed before?" Boyd asked.

Stella spoke up. "The notes of the previous investigations were incomplete, sir," she replied. "Parts had been blacked out, including peoples' names. Brent's was one of them."

"How do you know Brent was involved, then?" Grace asked.

"You would have me to thank for that," Eve said with a smile, though it was obvious it was slightly forced, an indicator that despite their pleasantness towards one another wasn't as heartfelt as it seemed to be. "But I don't think you want me to bore you with the details, do you?"

"No," Boyd said flatly. "It worked, that's the main thing. So, now we have a connection. Do we have a theory as to why Brent was killed?"

Spencer nodded. "We think that Brent had been collecting information on Evans' dealings over the years, and that he found himself in a position to blackmail the gangster," the DI explained. "From the notes of the previous investigations, we know that Brent knew a lot, and was happy to share as long as the price was right." He pulled a face. "He cut a lot of deals and because he was happy to grass, the police kept him loose."

"Typical," Eve muttered.

"We think he tried to blackmail Evans," Stella continued, taking over from her colleague, "But didn't count on Evans' cold-bloodedness. It's possible Evans murdered Brent, or had him murdered, in such a brutal way to set an example to anyone else who might think about crossing him."

"Do you have any proof to back these claims up?" Boyd asked.

Spencer shook his head. "Not yet, sir, but we're working on a few leads." He hesitated. "There's something else."

"There always is," Boyd replied. "Go on."

"The previous investigations into Evans were...they seemed to be inconclusive, sir," Spencer said.

"Now is not the time being cryptic."

"We think Evans either paid off or blackmailed some of the officers in charge, which then led to the investigation collapsing, sir," the DI replied stiffly.

Boyd simply nodded. "Grace raised the same point yesterday."

Grace shot him a glare that was pure venomous poison; if looks could kill, he would have been more than six feet under in an instant. But he seemed impervious and oblivious to the profiler's unhappy expression, unconcerned by the shocked scowls on the faces of the junior members of the team.

"Okay, this is what we're going to do," Boyd said quietly, his tone of voice indicating he was in 'boss' mode. "Stella, order up every piece of evidence and all the case notes from every single investigation that has ever been conducted on Michael Evans."

Eve looked aghast at him. "You can't be serious, Boyd."

"I'm very serious."

"Do you know how much work will be involved?" she asked him plaintively.

"At least you won't get bored," Boyd replied.

"Do you really think you'll achieve anything by doing this, Boyd?" Grace asked, her tone glacial, and the temperature in the room dropped dramatically as she spoke.

Again he seemed oblivious to her attitude towards him. "It's obvious there's something going on. Almost every copper in the force knows about Michael Evans, and we all know he's up to his eyeballs in practically everything there's a law against doing. But he's never even had so much as a parking ticket, and the only logical explanation is that he's hip-deep in police officers."

The way Boyd spoke chilled the team; such a cold, clinical, detached way, mechanical and unfeeling, and although they all knew he could be emotionless at times, this was something else entirely. Again Grace's doubts bubbled to the surface, so close that she almost blurted her thoughts out to the entire team, but she managed to control herself. If Boyd really was bent, they would have to tread very, very carefully around him, and she made a mental note to talk to the rest of the team separately and privately as soon as she could.

"Sir, are you suggesting what I think you are?" Spencer asked slowly.

"If you think I'm suggesting making a list of all the officers attached to the cases, and then investigation them to see if they are dirty, then yes, you are correct," Boyd replied.

"But that would take...." Spencer broke off in exasperation. "Will all due respect, sir, our job is to investigate Tom Brent's murder, nothing else."

"But if nailing Evans for Brent's murder means backtracking through previous cases, then that's what we have to do," Eve replied, siding with Boyd.

Stella shook her head. "It would take month, not to mention the amount of people we would be pissing off. And if you are right, sir, and Evans has friends everywhere, how do we know how far up the chain of command they go?"

"I agree with Spencer and Stella," Grace spoke up, not looking at Eve. It was almost commonplace that the officers grouped together, leaving Eve and Grace to watch each other's backs. For the profiler to side with Stella and Spence...well, it was a betrayal in its own right.

Boyd looked suitably unimpressed by all their statements. "I don't care who agrees with what. This isn't a democracy and it isn't up for debate. That's what I want doing and if I have to repeat myself, the only thing you'll all be looking at tomorrow will be the jobs section of the newspaper!" He stood abruptly. "Grace, a word."

The profiler was instantly on guard, hoping with every fibre of her being that Boyd wasn't going to restart their earlier argument. She followed him into his office, refusing to make eye contact with the others, and as she shut the door, she folded her arms protectively around herself and simply stopped in the middle of the room. Boyd continued to his desk, sitting behind it and putting his glasses on slowly, either unaware of Grace's defensive stance or deliberately ignoring it.

"I cannot have someone on my team who harbours such an unwarranted feeling of distrust towards me," he said quietly, his deep voice rumbling around the room. "As soon as this case is finished, I want you out of here."

To say Grace was shocked was an understatement. She stood stock-still, rooted to the spot, the colour draining rapidly from her face. But as numbness took over, a flame of anger licked incessantly at her, the rage from earlier still boiling under the surface, much to her surprise.

"Why wait? Why not fire me sooner?" she snapped at him.

Boyd finally looked up and she was shocked at how cold his eyes were. "Fine. Be gone by the end of the month."

That wasn't the answer Grace was hoping for. "But...that's only a week away."

"So it is," Boyd replied dryly. "Was there anything else?"

"Will you be firing Stella as well?" Grace asked. "After all, she's the reason Felix left and Spencer almost died."

"That's a wonderful idea. Stella!" Boyd yelled loudly.

The DC looked mortified as she entered the room, and Grace could see she was actually shaking. The profiler wanted to say something, to tell Boyd to stop being stupid, that she hadn't meant a word of anything she had said all damn day, but her mouth refused to work.

"Yes, sir?" Stella asked timidly.

"After having time to think things over, I have decided that your actions a few months ago were stupid and dangerous, and that it's time to reconsider your position in the team," Boyd replied. "You're fired. Get out."

"Boyd!" Grace protested the moment the door to his office slammed shut.

"It was your idea, Grace," Boyd reminded her in an all too calm way.

"Yes, but I didn't mean it."

"Never see things you don't mean."

Out in the squad room, Stella was actually restraining Spencer from marching into Boyd's office and punching him into the middle of next week. "It won't do you any good," she said, sniffling. "He'd only fire you too."

"Probably," Spencer replied morosely. "But still...what the fuck is the matter with him?"

"I don't know." Stella looked and sounded thoroughly dejected. "I suppose I'd better...." She gestured at her desk.

"You're not going anywhere," Spencer told her. "Look, just sit and work and...well, let those two fight it out."

He pointed to Boyd's office where it was clear an intense yelling match was going on. Boyd was on his feet, his hands planted on his desk, his face red with anger. Grace was still in the same spot, her arms still wrapped around her, but her body was rigid with rage. Although both Stella and Spencer could hear clearly what was being said, they tried to block the sound out, ducking their heads and concentrating on work instead. The argument seemed to last for an eternity, but finally, Boyd yanked the door open, almost taking it clean off its hinges.

"DC Goodman, you can stay for now, but the next mistake you make, even if it's tiny, will find out of here on your arse, understood?" Boyd said.

Stella nodded furiously. "Yes, sir."

Grace came out then, but they could tell by the look on her face that she wasn't happy at all. She didn't look at them or acknowledge them in any way, simply headed for her office and slammed the door behind her. Boyd watched Stella and Spencer track Grace's movements and he felt his temper slipping again.

"Don't you two have work to do?" he snapped before retreating back into his own office.

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The rest of the day passed without incident. An hour after Boyd has issued his orders, several uniformed officers arrived with boxes containing everything he had asked for. Evidence went to the lab and the notes stayed in the squad room, which quickly resembled a storeroom rather than an office. Stella and Spencer started the laborious task of going through the interview transcripts, while Grace took the profiles on everyone involved and started to compile ones about the officers as well, and Boyd looked at anything that was left over, as well as collating and summarising the rest of the information they had. A lot of time was spent on telephones, the rest in silence, and they had given up any pretence of being nice to each other; if they needed to interact, it was done without speaking and if possible, without looking at one another either.

Boyd spent most of his time brooding. It was something he was exceptionally good at on an average day, but that day he excelled brilliantly at it. While he had rescinded Stella's redundancy notice, Grace's still remained in place, though he had no intentions of actually letting her leave. He just wanted her to sweat for a while, to feel as uncomfortable as he did. While Boyd knew his relationship with Grace had never been particularly stable, he never thought she would doubt him in such a way, and the realisation that she did made him feel as if someone had just driven a stake through his heart. But as if that wasn't enough, the stake was now being twisted because he could tell that despite his protestations, she actually believed he was bent. Boyd pinched the bridge of his nose. It was just bloody typical. The one person he trusted in the world, the one he actually cared for, had a lower opinion of him that he had of himself. And it had hurt, more than Boyd was prepared to admit, even to himself. That was why he had lashed out so much, and once he started, he just couldn't stop. That was always his problem. And now the balance of the team hung by a thread; all Boyd had to do was breath wrong and the whole thing would tumble down like a house of cards.

But despite the problems, they did make progress on the case. It was looking ninety nine percent likely that half the officers on the previous investigation were either being blackmailed or bribed by Evans because there was simply no other explanation for the way the investigations had turned out. Eve had made a start on the evidence, and by the end of two boxes, she declared if she had been the pathologist on the team, Evans would now be behind bars. The net was slowly closing the notorious gangster, but whether they would be able to make something stick this time was still uncertain.

It was late when Boyd finally called a halt to the working day, but his two spoken words, "Go home," were met with stony silences as the team simply upped and left, not bothering to tidy their desks or even bid good night to one another. Boyd was the last to leave, and he did so thankfully, not with his usual reluctance. Every second he spent in his office simply served to remind him of the words he had uttered to Grace, the words he couldn't take back, the words she would never forget.

It was cold outside, and he stopped briefly to adjust to the temperature difference. Winter had arrived early, the end of November only just in sight, the wind as biting as his earlier speech had been, ice in the wind chipping at his face and hair. It certainly wasn't a night to be outside. As he reached his car, he stopped, instinct telling him he wasn't alone, and slowly he turned to see four men walking towards him. Instantly Boyd knew who they were and who had sent them, and he was aware it was a bold move on their part. He knew it with the same certainty that he knew if he made it out alive, it would be nothing short of a miracle. They were professionals, they didn't play around, and they certainly wouldn't hesitate in blowing a hole in his head the second he stopped being useful. And though he knew it was useless, Boyd tried to stall for a few moments in the vain hope someone would come out in the car park.

"You can't honestly think you'll get away with this, can you?" he asked them, not expecting an answer and not receiving one. "There are security cameras all over the place, and there are still officers in the building. All I've got to do is shout or even..."

One hand was in his pocket on his phone, and even without looking, he knew he was a nanosecond away from speed dialling Grace's number. He was a fraction too slow. One of the men, with lightning quick reflexes, seemed to anticipate Boyd's actions and in the time it took the thought to reach Boyd's thumb, telling it to press the button on his phone, the man had shot at him, the bullet glancing off his temple, spinning him around like a top. He was unconscious before he hit the floor. His thumb never made it to the button.

TBC


	4. Darkness

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Black inkiness surrounded and engulfed him. It wasn't just the lack of light that made the world dim, it was the desperation of his situation that made the darkness crawl into his very soul. He tried to open his eyes, but only one would obey, the other firmly glued shut. Sighing, Boyd half-heartedly lifted a hand to try and remove some of the crap from his eye, and almost startled himself into having a heart attack when he realised he could actually move. Suddenly his situation didn't seem so bad. Carefully, he pawed at his face, wondering dimly why his head was sore, and then the memory came back.

Evans' goons. One had shot him, it grazed his temple. Gingerly, Boyd probed the area, wincing at the stinging sensation of his fingers on the wound, the throbbing that followed travelling the whole right side of his face, making him slightly glad he couldn't open his eye. The he realised what was causing that particular problem; blood, and a goodly amount of it from the gash on his temple. Unfortunately, that realisation brought with it a wave of nausea, so strong that Boyd suddenly doubled over, his hands clamping at his stomach, vomit erupting from his mouth like lava from a volcano, spilling on his shoes and the bottoms of his trousers. Once he had finished heaving, Boyd wiped his mouth with a shaking hand and straightened slowly. He'd lost quite a bit of blood, but it wasn't too serious. The most important thing for him at that moment in time was to escape.

As quietly as he could, Boyd began to fumble around the room, searching for a door handle or a window. Within seconds he had found an exit, and a dull alarm bell began to ring in the back of his mind, but he paid no attention. He had to get out, he had to warn the others. Someone had been watching the team, it was the only explanation for his capture. They were getting close to actually nailing the bastard Evans with something but one of his paid flunkies had ratted on them. That thought made Boyd smile grimly, giving him the boost he needed to keep walking.

The corridor outside the room he had found himself in was just as dark and he stumbled blindly forwards, cursing quietly whenever he hit the wall. He could do it...he could escape. He *had* to, not only so they could finally arrest Evans, but so he could see Grace again. Not to apologise; Boyd hadn't apologised for a long time and he wasn't about to start now. But he just wanted to see her. He wondered briefly if she was worried about him, but then he realised be probably hadn't been gone long enough for anyone to miss him. But when she found out, Grace would probably be beside herself, their recent argument forgotten, and that meant he would have free reign to bait her whenever he felt like it, for a good while at least. It wasn't that he enjoyed watching her get upset, although the perverse side of him did get a little kick out of the control aspect; it was the only way Boyd could communicate his feelings. He thought that Grace would have realised that by now, being a psychologist and all. But it seemed like she was too close to the situation to be objective, which meant she thought Boyd didn't like her or respect her, and as he was completely inept with almost all social graces, he had no clue how to make her see otherwise, and even if he could, he doubted she would believe him.

"Well, well, well," a voice drawled. "What have we here? A little lost policeman."

Light suddenly flooded the room, blinding Boyd, distracting him more than his thoughts of Grace had. Suddenly he felt a foot connecting hard with his balls, and he grunted in pain, doubling over and falling to his knees. Before he could recover, another well aimed kick hit him in the face, missing his nose by millimetres, but on target for his eye. Unable to help himself, Boyd cried out as he felt his eye being pushed back forcibly into the socket, the agony more overwhelming than he could have ever imagined. Then someone grabbed a handful of his hair and hauled him roughly to his feet.

"He don't look so good," a man drawled, and as Boyd opened his left eye, he could vaguely make out some dark hair and the basic shape of a face.

"His eye seems to be bleeding a little," someone else noted with clinical coldness. "Maybe we should do something about that. Want him all perky for when the boss arrives."

"Good idea," Drawl said. He blew a cloud of acrid smoke into Boyd's face, and as the policeman spluttered and coughed, he yanked his head back and stabbed the burning end of the cigarette into Boyd's eye.

He wanted to scream at the searing pain that lanced his face, but he simply didn't have the strength left. The smell of burning flesh filled the air and Boyd could hear his skin crackling with the heat. As the blackness of unconsciousness threatened to spirit him away, he fought it, concentrating on what Clinical Coldness had said; 'want him all perky for when the boss arrives'. 'The boss'. Boyd focussed on those two words, shutting out everything else around him, focussed so hard that it started hurting, but it was preferable to the outward agony he was feeling.

"Well, waddya know?" Drawl said. "It weren't his eye causing all that trouble after all."

"You mean it wasn't bleeding?" Clinical Coldness asked.

Drawl laughed harshly. "Oh, sure, it were bleeding, but most of the red stuff was coming from this gash on his head from where you shot him."

Boyd latched onto that piece of information the way a drowning man grabs at anything that floats in order to stay alive. Clinical Coldness had shot him; that automatically put him higher up in the pecking order than Drawl.

"Shut up, Jensen, or you'll be next," Clinical Coldness snapped.

Boyd couldn't see, but he imagined Drawl - or Jensen - was holding his hands up in surrender. "Alright, don't get your panties in a twist. I was just stating fact."

"Don't state, just fix it."

"Sure thing." Jensen grabbed Boyd's hair again and the DSI had a handful of seconds to prepare himself before he felt the searing heat from the cigarette on the gash on his temple. But as soon as it had started, it stopped. "Shit. That was my last fag as well. Here, Perry, hand me that lighter."

"I'm not your lackey," a third man, Perry, snarled.

"And I can't let him go, can I?" Jensen retorted. "Just do as you're bloody well told!"

"I -"

"Perry," Clinical Coldness said quietly. "Do it."

Perry grumbled but did as he was told, which only served to reinforce Boyd's suspicion that Clinical Coldness was in command, at least for the moment. Then all thoughts fled as the flame from the lighter licked at his wound, the skin blistering instantly. Boyd did the only thing he could; he shouted out loudly in agony.

"And we don't want any of that, either," Jensen told him calmly as he touched the lighter to Boyd's lips.

"Fuck...you," Boyd managed to grind out when they paused.

"Reckon that mouth of yours has gotten you into trouble plenty of times before," Jensen drawled. It was obvious he was the talkative one of the group. "Think we'd better do something about that right now."

And without warning, he grabbed Boyd's head in a vice like grip while another pair of hands prised his mouth open. "What...do you...want?" Boyd asked.

Clinical Coldness stepped in front of him and pulled his tongue out gently with a pair of pliers. "For you to be quiet," he replied, taking a freshly lit cigarette and stabbing it out viciously on the over-stretched muscle.

TBC


	5. Missing

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Grace groaned as she heard the alarm going off upstairs. Sheer bone weariness and absolute exhaustion had led her to spend a restless night downstairs on the couch, but even she had been in her bed, the alarm wouldn't have been necessary. She couldn't remember the last time she had slept so little, the words from the previous day echoing loudly through the vaults of her mind.

*"And I think there's substance to it. I can also narrow the culprits down to a choice of two people," Grace told him.

"Go on," Boyd said.

"Stella, for obvious reasons, and you."*

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, willing the alarm to stop, too tired to trudge upstairs and turn it off herself, hoping that when it stopped, the memories would as well. It was like her mind was playing a tape on loop, and every so often it would skip forwards.

*"What makes you think I would ever betray this team and compromise an investigation? What reason have I ever given...?"

"You've given plenty of reasons, Boyd! How many cases have you actually played by the book? How many times have you bent the rules, or broken them completely, just to get a result?"*

Grace rubbed her face, feeling the lines of age and tiredness under her fingers, and suddenly she felt close to tears again. She hadn't meant to explode at Boyd like that...or had she? For so long now, she felt like she was being pushed around and bullied by him; somehow, their friendship had soured and now he treated her just like anybody else, with little care and no respect. Of course, she hadn't exactly given him an easy time. When they had reinvestigated the Thomas Palliser case the previous year, Grace, and the rest of the team, had been so...eager, almost, to believe that Boyd was actually in the wrong. And while she still had her doubts over whether he had taken the bung Vine had palmed him, she couldn't forget the overwhelming guilt when they realised he hadn't hurt the motorcyclist, when they realised he had been right all those years ago when he arrested and exposed Vine.

*"If you've got an accusation to make, Dr Foley, then make it!"

"Fine, DSI Boyd, I will! I think you're a lying, yellow bastard! I think you did take bribes off both Vincent Peverell and Eddie Vine, and God knows who else! Bollocks to your story that you didn't. The only way someone like you is still working is because they're paid up with the right people, which means you're in this up to your eyeballs and you've got no place investigating someone like Michael Evans!"*

The alarm started again, louder and more persistent than before, just like Boyd himself really, and while Grace knew she really should get up, turn the alarm off, and get herself ready for work, she just couldn't move. After all, what was the point?

*"I cannot have someone on my team who harbours such an unwarranted feeling of distrust towards me. As soon as this case is finished, I want you out of here."*

He had given her an indefinite amount of time to put her affairs in order, rather generous considering his volatile nature, but no, Grace had to make things worse for herself.

*"Why wait? Why not fire me sooner?"

"Fine. Be gone by the end of the month."

"But...that's only a week away."

"So it is. Was there anything else?"*

And then she had to involve Stella, but at least Boyd had retracted that redundancy notice. But not hers. The worst part for Grace was the cold look on Boyd's face; he looked as though he actually meant it, and she couldn't help but wonder whether he was pushing her before she jumped. Had she been that obvious in her displeasure and discomfort that someone like Boyd had noticed? Had he known she was preparing to leave anyway?

The irony of it all was that as soon as Boyd had fired her, Grace realised how much she didn't want to leave, and being a psychologist, she found that particular reasoning said so many unpleasant things about her character. It didn't do any good to self-analyse too much, but at that moment in time, Grace couldn't help it. She was trying to find a reason for everything; her purpose at work, in life in general, why Boyd was the way he was, why Spencer was the way he was, what had caused Stella to betray the team so badly, and Eve....

Grace sighed. The scientist had fit into the team very well, but there was a nagging feeling at the back of the profiler's mind that told her trouble was ahead. She had been given Eve's profile, the part of it that no one else had seen, and it was only sheer stubbornness that had stopped her from telling Boyd. Eve was, by all accounts, a brilliant, if a little eccentric, pathologist; in other words, she was perfect for the team. But she had also had problems in the past, drug related ones. They were only minor misdemeanours, something that had somehow been expunged from her general record, but Grace's resources were vast and she had managed to get her hands on an unaltered copy, and she had decided that the experimentation with drugs was the reason Eve was so eccentric. But still, so far, she had conducted herself with nothing but professionalism, and Grace saw no reason to dredge up the past, which could be especially damaging to someone who had so obviously moved on.

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Eve's hands were trembling slightly as she raised the cigarette to her lips, took a drag, then blew the smoke out through equally shaking lips. She could do this. She had mastered the problem once, she could do it again. But after the stressful day at work, Eve didn't want to cope any more. Every day was difficult, but that day had been a particular bitch, with Boyd being an even bigger bastard than normal, firing Stella only to retract the decision five minutes later and generally blaming the team for failing to solve an unsolvable case. The fact that someone might be interfering with the investigation, as well as previous ones, on Evans' say so was a frightening prospect. Everyone knew Evans by reputation, they all knew what he was capable of, and quite simply, the man had no limits and no qualms about doing whatever was necessary to remove any object from his path.

Eve took another drag of her cigarette, the nicotine doing precious little to sooth her nerves, the temptation just too strong. The bottle was there, right in front of her, already unstoppered, the imaginary fumes speaking in fairytale whispers to her, promises of a sweet release from all she hated. The needle was there too, pristine on top of a velvet bed within a box, looking at her with pleading eyes. Eve knew it was stupid, knew they were nothing but inanimate objects, but she needed a little bit of company and since she had no friends to speak of, the cocaine bottle and hypodermic syringe had to be her companions.

Stubbing her cigarette out, Eve immediately lit another and continued to stare at the bottle and needle. She had been clean for so long that she had almost forgotten what it was like to indulge herself. She had expected her past to come to light when she started work at the CCU, but nothing was ever said, though the pathologist suspected Grace had an inkling. Though really, after everything Eve had been through, could the profiler blame her? The Serbio-Bosnian war had been one of the worst experiences of her life, the mere thought of the mass graves so damaging to her mind that she refused to even speak about it, preferring to pretend it had never happened.

But simply thinking about the war, about the last time she had used a drug, made Eve crave it all the more. It was a moment of weakness, nothing more, but it was enough. Stubbing her half smoked cigarette out, she bit her lip as she rolled her sleeve up. Normally she steered clear of the veins in her arms, preferring to use her legs instead. More painful, more difficult to get right, but more satisfying because of that, and she didn't have to explain the marks away or hide her arms.

But that night, Eve didn't care. She didn't give a damn about anything. Stella's job might have been saved, but for how long? And Grace...she had heard the argument the profiler had shared with Boyd. Eve had been in the corridor getting tea, unbeknownst to everyone else, and the heated words spoken between them had echoed out clearly to her. From the sounds of it, Grace had managed to talk herself out of a job. Even though Eve had only been with the team a short time, she had followed Grace's work intermittently over the years, the profiler's name being familiar to her. And now, working in such close quarters, Eve had quickly grown to respect and admire Grace. And Stella... Eve knew all about the problems from the previous year, but as an outsider, she could afford a slightly less biased view, and although she was sure if she had been in Felix Gibson's position, she would have reacted the same, she hadn't been and so couldn't understand the lingering hostility towards the young DC. She couldn't understand why Boyd had suddenly decided to fire her, although having overheard the argument, she knew it had been on Grace's suggestion. Those two confused the scientist greatly, but she didn't afford them any thoughts then, just like with Spencer. All she cared about was satisfying a long dormant addiction.

Tapping her arm at the crease of the elbow, Eve's eyes grew very bright when she saw the vein popping so easily to the surface. With practised ease, she used an old belt as a tourniquet around her arm, pulling it tight with her teeth, and then filled the syringe. But just as the sharp point of the needle touched her arm, Eve's cold rational side took over, and with an expression mixed with shock and revulsion, she hurled the hypodermic across the room, watching with almost grim satisfaction as it smashed against the wall. Not this time. This time she would *not* be weak. This time, *she* was in control.

And with that thought firmly fixed in her mind, Eve lit up another cigarette, her hands remarkable steady now.

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Stella was anything but calm. She felt as though she had a belly full of snakes and was about to throw them up any second. Getting the job in the CCU had been a big enough challenge to start with; it was obvious that Boyd didn't to hire her, and that he had been overruled by a higher authority, something that clearly hadn't sat well with him. And while he hadn't treated her badly, Boyd hadn't exactly given Stella the amount of respect she felt she deserved. Then again, she did end up betraying the team, so what did she expect? Never mind the fact she had no choice in the matter; Stella knew there was always a choice, and she had made the right on in the end, though it seemed like she had left it too late. Spencer still quite obviously held a grudge against her, though earlier that day, when Boyd announced he had fired her, the DI was indignant and angry on her part. Stella shook her head; Spencer confused her. One minute he was nice, the next not, and while she understood his hostility towards her since he got shot, she wished he would just stay hostile instead of occasionally trying to make an effort to be nice.

But still, Spencer was the least of her worries. Stella knew it only a matter of time before Boyd decided to fire her for definite, and she started to think about jumping before she was pushed, but where she would transfer to, she didn't know. In fact, her future had never looked more uncertain, and Stella realised the best thing that could happen was for Boyd to actually disappear.

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The next morning, Spencer's expression slowly turned from grim to mordant as he sat waiting for the others to file in. He had been in the office early, waiting to catch Boyd alone, but so far, the DSI was conspicuous by his absence, and that did little to ease the gnawing worry in Spencer's gut. The previous night, despite the lateness of the hour, he had phoned Boyd when he got home. No reply. Sat brooding and thinking, Spencer must have tried half a dozen times to reach his boss, until the early hours of the morning. Nothing. After a few hours sleep, he tried again, and again, and again. Still nothing. And so he waited, to see if any of the others, particularly Grace, had heard from Boyd, though after yesterday's fiasco, he doubted it. It also gave him time to try and quiet the voice in his head, the one that hoped Boyd wouldn't show to work so that they could all have some peace for a change; after yesterday, they all needed it more than ever. Spencer knew he had his own problems with Stella, and he knew Boyd's grievances were legitimate as well, but if he, Spencer, could try to make amends, he was certain Boyd could.

"Morning," Eve greeted him, looking like he felt.

"Morning," Spencer replied in the same tone she had used.

"Coffee?"

"No. Thanks."

Grace appeared next, looking as pale and drawn as they had ever seen. Wordlessly, she nodded and disappeared into her office, closing the door with a firm click. Eve handed Spencer his coffee and took herself off to the lab, leaving him alone for a few minutes, until Stella arrived.

"Am I late?" she asked, her eyes widening with fear as she incorrectly read the expression on Spencer's face.

He shook his head. "Waiting on Boyd."

Stella nodded, relieved. "Coffee?"

Another head shake. "Eve just made some."

"Okay."

Silence descended once again, and Spencer found himself wondered how things had gotten so tense and uncomfortable in the office. Had he ever laughed in there? Had he ever actually enjoyed his work? He knew he had, but those instances seemed a lifetime ago.

Nine o'clock came and wait. No Boyd. Then ten, then eleven. At regular intervals, Spencer phoned the DSI with no answer, and finally, just before lunch, he headed out of the offices, telling only Grace where he was going. Boyd didn't answer the door, his car wasn't there, and after picking his lock, Spencer deduced that his boss hadn't been home all night. The bed hadn't been slept in, the kitchen was too clean, and yesterday's post was still on the mat. There was only one plausible explanation and it was one Spencer hoped was wrong.

Arriving back at the office, he saw Boyd was still absent, and a certain detachment descended on him. He was concerned, but at the same time, Boyd's disappearance solved so many problems for them. He phoned Eve and asked her to join them, then knocked on Grace's door. Once they were all assembled, he quickly told them of his inability to contact the boss. The DI then looked at each one of them in turn before speaking, his voice toneless and flat, almost uncaring. "I think it's safe to say Boyd's missing."

*"Do you really think that if I was behind this idiotic idea of yours that I'd conjure up something as pathetic as a letter? Do you think I'm so stupid that I think something like that would be 'the perfect cover'? Get real, Grace! Christ, if I really was on the payroll of someone like Evans, I'd invent a kidnapping instead, which would really get me off the hook! I'd make sure that his goons caught me and demanded the investigation be stopped or they'd kill me. That's how I'd play things if I was as bent as you're trying to make out I am!"*

At Spencer's announcement, Grace recalled the words as easily as her own name, but they provoked no emotion. She viewed them with a calm detachment, the same as she accepted the response they evoked. Because she knew if Boyd really was missing, her job was safe, as was Stella's, and if it was an elaborate hoax by the DSI, it only served to confirm her suspicions about his loyalty. Either way, from the looks on the faces of the others, no one was in a great rush to find him.

TBC


	6. Coldness

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Boyd guessed he had been missing for roughly thirty six hours, and during that time, his situation hadn't improved one iota. His first torture session hadn't lasted that long, but to him, it felt like a lifetime. Armed with only cigarettes and lighter, Clinical Coldness, Jensen and Perry had made such a pattern on his arms and face, Boyd thought they were playing dot-to-dot. His right eye seemed to be welded shut and he had given up trying to open it, especially after Jensen had forced it open to administer several more cigarette burns to the all-seeing globe. Boyd felt like it was still on fire, and he was dimly aware that he may never see through it ever again. The condition of his eye, and his head, made him glad they had kept him in darkness for so long, but seemed they'd had a change of heart. Roughly twenty four hours of black, then they had switched on football pitch floodlights in a room that seemed to be only six feet squared, maybe an inch more or less. All Boyd knew that when he tried to stand up or lie down, his hair uncomfortably brushed the ceiling or wall.

Of course the lights probably weren't pitch floodlights, but after spending so much time in the dark, it felt like that to Boyd, and the brightness made his good eye sting. He tried to swallow but his tongue was still thick and swollen from being torched with the lighter, and he couldn't lick his lips because they were charred and cracked from the same treatment.

Boyd couldn't understand his kidnappers at all. They had worked on him for a short time, then left him alone for hours, in the dark, only to return and start all over again, kicking him in the same places, burning him in the same places. Then they left again. A short time after that, someone came in and bathed his wounds, rubbing cream onto the burns to soothe them. The shock of the tenderness in that gesture almost gave Boyd a heart attack, and although he couldn't see who his nurse was, gut instinct told him it was a woman, and several unpleasant possibilities jumped into his head. He had already decided that someone within the team was on Evans' payroll; he just didn't want to decide, or find out, which one it was. Only one of the team could have engineered something like this, especially after his comment to Grace.

*"Christ, if I really was on the payroll of someone like Evans, I'd invent a kidnapping instead, which would really get me off the hook! I'd make sure that his goons caught me and demanded the investigation be stopped or they'd kill me."*

Never before had Boyd regretted his words so much, especially because he knew no one in the Met would even consider stopping the investigation; too many people would happily see him burn alive, and from the way things were going, that was looking like an ugly reality.

Automatically, Boyd went to run a hand through his hair and winced as his fingers brushed the scabby gash on his temple. So far, the burns on his face seemed to be relatively mild, apart from the work done on his lips and head injury. Same with the marks on his arms. It was almost like they were...warming up. Boyd couldn't suppress a shudder at the thought that things could, and probably would, get worse.

"Well, well, well, look like the little policeman's awake," Jensen drawled, and Boyd silently cursed himself for his inattention. "Now, where were we?"

"You were...being a...wanker," Boyd retaliated.

Jensen looked mildly amused. "A wanker, eh? Now that gives me some ideas for later. But until then, I think that mouth of yours needs more work doing to it."

Same drill as before. One pair of hands pulled his head back, another pair prised his mouth open, and a pair of pliers yanked his tongue out, roughly this time, causing Boyd to gag. He braced himself for the concentrated, burning sensation of a cigarette on his tongue, and almost screamed himself hoarse when he felt something else entirely.

"So, who's for barbecued tongue for lunch?" Jensen asked.

Perry sniggered. "Probably wouldn't taste too good."

"Oh, I don't know," Jensen replied, watching as Boyd's tongue started to turn black under the ministrations of the flame of his lighter. "He seems to think so. Mind you, it lives in his mouth, so it's obvious he thinks it tastes good."

Perry sniggered again, then swore. "Shit, Jensen, cut it out. He ain't gonna stay awake much longer if you keep doing that, and we want him all perky for later."

Jensen peered at Boyd, whose eyeball was ready for rolling back into his head. "Damn, you're right."

The heat left his tongue, but the pain continued, and Boyd was ready for giving in to unconsciousness until a wave of ice cold water hit him. He gasped, some of it entering his mouth, and swallowed it gratefully, could almost hear it sizzling against his damaged tongue. Another wave, more going in his mouth, and he started to feel alive, strong again.

"What do you want?" he croaked, his thick tongue making it almost impossible for him to talk.

Jensen looked at Perry. "Want?" he drawled. "What do we want? Hmm, let me think. Lots of money, plenty of hot chicks...what do you want?"

"To nail you...bastards."

Jensen leaned close to Boyd's ear. “Be careful what you wish for, or else we might just take you at your word."

Through a cloud of pain, Boyd wondered what the hell he was taking to, but then, just briefly, the haze cleared, and he felt sickened to his stomach at the insinuation. "Let me go."

Perry laughed. "Funny guy, ain't he?"

"Oh yeah, a regular clown." Jensen shook his head and lit up another cigarette. "Sorry, can't do that. The boss, you see, wants you messed up real good, as an example. Now, I think we need something a little more...robust for our next exercise. Waddya reckon, Perry?"

"Reckon you're right, Jensen."

"Get me the cat."

Boyd almost laughed at the absurdity of the statement, but seconds later, all humour fled, along with his courage. He felt himself being turned and pinned face first to the wall, then the only warning he had of what was to come was a faint whistling through the air. Then his back exploded in pain, and it registered what the 'cat' was; a cat o' nine tails. He was being flogged, and suddenly Boyd felt like laughing again.

"What are you doing?" Clinical Coldness had arrived, and he didn't sound impressed.

Strangely enough, Jensen's reply was delivered in an unconcerned tone. "Thought we'd make a start without you,” he said with respect.

"Jensen, Jensen, Jensen, how many times do I have to tell you that's not the proper way to whip someone? Here, give it me. I've had years of practice." Clinical Coldness surveyed Boyd's back, which was still covered in clothes. It was odd, but the kidnappers had redressed him after torturing him. "You see, that coat's the problem to start with. I don't think he needs it in here, do you?"

Boyd struggled instinctively as Perry and Jensen yanked his coat down from the shoulders, and suddenly there was a popping noise, and the policeman yelled in pain, despite the wounds in his mouth.

"Ah, shit, Perry, waddya do that for?" Jensen asked in exasperation.

"I didn't do nowt!" Perry replied defensively.

"You just took his shoulder straight out of its socket!" Jensen exclaimed.

Clinical Coldness sighed. "That blows it. Looks like we'll have to leave what I had planned until tomorrow. Ah well. Perry, fix your mess."

"But I didn't...."

From his somewhat awkward vantage point, Boyd saw Clinical Coldness glare at Perry, who visibly shrank back from the scrutiny. "If I have to repeat myself, you'll be demonstrating to Boyd what he's missing. Am I clear?"

"Crystal," Perry said, nodding quickly. "Jensen, hold him down, will you?"

Jensen grinned evilly. "My pleasure."

Boyd found his feet kicked literally from under him and then he felt someone, presumably Jensen, standing on his legs. Resistance, he thought, was useless at that point, so he simply lay there. Perry braced his foot against Boyd's shoulder blade, grabbed his wrist, and pushed the limb back into its socket.

"Now, get him on his feet," Clinical Coldness ordered.

Boyd, groggy with pain, was dimly aware of Jensen and Perry hauling him roughly to his feet. He had always thought of himself as being relatively tough, but already he was nearing the limit of his pain endurance, and he was almost certain his captures hadn't even started with him properly yet.

"Now, Mr Boyd, there's a lesson you still have to learn – how to be quiet," Clinical Coldness. "Let's see if you can manage it."

The effort of gritting his teeth together hurt as Boyd endured the lashes, each one biting deeper and deeper into his skin. Perry refused to watch, while Jensen was obscenely interested. Every stroke causing blood to rise willingly to the surface of Boyd's back, leaving a red streak when the whip withdrew. Chunks of skin and flesh flew off, littering the ground around the DSI's feet like confetti, and then suddenly, it all stopped. Boyd opened his mouth to breath a slow sigh of relief and ended up choking back a cry as ice cold water doused his back. A strange sensation crept up his legs and down his arms, and he found it wasn't darkness that threatened to engulf him this time; it was coldness, a much worse feeling, one Boyd always associated with death. But at that moment in time, as he was laid down, death wouldn't have been a completely unwelcome companion.

"I don't see bone yet," Jensen complained.

"Don't worry, you will," Clinical Coldness assured him. "But we want him alive for a while longer yet, so why rush? Get the nurse tell her to bring...." He dropped his voice to a whisper and Boyd didn't catch what he said.

Perry snickered. "Think he'll learn his lesson about not screaming?" he asked.

"We'll soon find out," Clinical Coldness replied.

Boyd heard light footsteps approaching, then someone knelt beside him, and he could have sworn on a stack of bibles that a familiar scent accompanied The Nurse. He winced slightly as she started to bathe his wounds, but soon relaxed into her touch. It was warming and welcoming, like home; did he know her? If he dared to look, would he see black nail polish adorning the ends of the fingers? Or would they be elegantly long? Or were they aged, belonging to someone older? He didn't think he wanted to find out one way or the other... Then Boyd stopped thinking altogether.

The Nurse put something on his back and immediately it burst into fire. Boyd couldn't tell how extensive his wounds were; the pain spread from shoulder to hip in both directions and seemed to be seeping through his torso. Then he felt a handful of something crystalline being shoved into his mouth, and he wasn't allowed to spit it out. Boyd couldn't say what it tasted like; in fact, he wondered if he would ever be able to taste again. But whatever it was made his left eye water profusely; even his right eye seemed to be trying, and Boyd could almost feel the socket swelling with liquid behind the closed lids, pushing the globe back into his head.

"Salt in the wounds," Clinical Coldness said quietly, so close to the DSI's ear that Boyd could feel his breath on his cheek. "How many times have you done that, Mr Policeman? Hmm? How many times have you seen someone who already feels bloody awful about life, and then rubbed salt in their wounds to make them feel worse? How does it feel to have that done to you?"

Boyd didn't answer; he couldn't. He was too busy trying to swallow the lump of salt that had formed in his mouth, but his damaged tongue wouldn't flex and he started to choke.

"Here, let me help." Clinical Coldness said and started pounding the policeman on the back.

He wasn't sure how he managed, but when a strangled cry reached Boyd's ears, he realised it was him trying to scream. The coldness had given way to impending darkness again, and he wasn't sure which one he preferred. In the dark recesses of his mind, Boyd wondered how long-term torture victims; less than two days and he was all ready for giving up.

That thought brought him up short. Boyd did *not* give up or give in, with or about anything. It was the one thing he thought people admired, and hated, about him, and he certainly wouldn't want to start disappointing people now.

Clinical Coldness patted his cheek and stared at him; Boyd looked back with a slightly unfocussed gaze. "It looks like you haven't learnt your lesson yet," he told the policeman. "So we'll try again in a while." He stood up and started talking, presumably to The Nurse. "Fix him up properly, will you?"

"Want the lights off, Christian?" Jensen asked.

Another piece to the puzzle and Boyd's fuzzy mind latched onto it like a limpet to a rock. Clinical Coldness – Christian – replied after a beat. "No. Let's leave them on for now. After all, he's been in the dark long enough, don't you think?"

There was no warmth in the tone, no friendliness in the voice, despite the words, and Boyd shivered. Beside him, The Nurse opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it. It would do the police officer more harm than good, she decided, and carried on cleaning his wounds as best she could.

TBC


	7. Empty

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It was, Grace decided, the quietest two days of her life. Two full days without Boyd, since he had gone 'missing'; she couldn't bring herself to believe that Evans had set his sights on Boyd and had actually had the policeman. Of course, there were no new leads in the Brent murder case and the atmosphere in the office was just as stressful as it had been when Boyd was there, but the main and most important difference was the serenity of it all. There was no one shouting at the top of his voice or slamming doors when things didn't go his way, which seemed to be every few minutes lately. Grace seriously thought of Boyd as a petulant child most of the time; she was just waiting for him to either stamp his feet and say 'shan't!' or throw himself on the floor and start pounding at it with his fists. But there was none of that now, although Spencer looked like he was trying to win the World Scowling Competition, and when he sulked, his bottom lip thrust out so much Grace could have used it as a spring board, if so inclined and very tiny.

She shook her head. What the hell was wrong with her? Had she been standing too close to Eve while she had been smoking one of her special cigarettes? Grace took a deep calming breath. That was it, it had to be. It was the only explanation that made sense.

The rest of the team seemed to be benefiting from the silence as well, although by the third day of Boyd's disappearance, more frequent looks were being cast in Grace's direction. They had yet to inform the commissioner that Boyd wasn't around; he hadn't noticed, and until he did, they figured there was no point. Actually, Grace had decided. The other members of the team automatically looked to her for leadership, even though technically, Spencer was the senior officer and so the one in charge. Grace wondered if that was why he was sulking, though he deferred easily to her as well. When she had announced she wasn't worried about Boyd's vanishing act, the others simply went with it. Now, it seemed, they had changed their minds.

Sighing, realising her peace and quiet was coming to an end, Grace stood, stretched her aching muscles, and walked out into the corridor, heading towards the vending machine. While she would have loved to carry on ignoring Boyd's absence, she knew she couldn't any longer. The previous night, Grace had been sat in her living room with a glass of wine, unwinding and relaxing, when her eyes rested on the clock on the window table. It was the one Boyd had given her five years previously, the one that was on loan but that he had never yet asked for back. It was something that had always stuck Grace as being very Boyd, and like lightning striking, she was suddenly appalled at her own attitude towards the situation.

She knew Boyd was missing, she knew he could well be in trouble, but even after two days, she couldn't quell the nagging doubt deep in the pit of her stomach. To her, Boyd was simply absent, and while he remained such a way, they had little chance of finding him. And as she had sat sipping her wine, Grace had found herself wishing Boyd remained missing. At some point, their relationship had begun to sour, but she always believed it was still salvageable...until their argument on the day of his disappearance. Perhaps it was Grace's own fault for pushing him so hard, but she was fed up of being the way to give ground, to retreat all the damn time. And she had hoped that she might be able to make Boyd see that he needed her. It had all backfired in her face, and the worst part for Grace wasn't that Boyd had fired her, but that he obviously did *not* need her. Maybe he never had. She had noticed a pattern to his behaviour over the years. He seemed to delight in reeling women in, especially her, by flirting with them and charming them, and then when they became almost putty-like, his silver tongue would change to a forked serpent's and the lashings would start. The words were like poisoned darts, each one embedding itself in her mind. And then, when she thought she could take no more, he would change back to the charming man with a lopsided smile that he didn't use nearly enough, and she would forgive him. It had taken an argument of massive proportions, even for them, and two days without Boyd to make Grace see the truth of it all. There would be no forgiveness this time; there could *not* be. His words had been deliberately cruel, delivered in a cold and calculating way. No, she would leave and no amount of begging, bribing, cajoling or demanding would bring her back. It was nothing less than he deserved.

Then Grace had looked at the clock, and it was as though a veil had been lifted. She suddenly rose jerkily to her feet and made her way to the kitchen, pouring the rest of the wine away and making coffee instead. Hands wrapped firmly around the hot mug, Grace went back to the living room and sat, staring at the clock in a trance-like state. She knew Boyd could be hard, but cruel? That was a word she had never though to attach to him. He was socially inept, certainly, and that accounted for most of his failings, which she had put up with for over five years, and there had been some extremely rough patches. Yet she had stood by him, would do nothing else because she was the only one *could*. She doubted whether he knew her true worth, whether she meant a great deal to him or not, but Grace knew she meant *something* to Boyd because of the way he acted around her. Perhaps that was why they argued so much. As a psychologist, that was something she could understand perfectly.

But it was the accusations that made Grace feel so empty, as though she had betrayed him. She had no idea why she had blurted out she thought Boyd could be a traitor; in fact, she had never even *thought* about it up until recently. She trusted him, knew he would never sell out to anyone, for anything; Boyd was not a man prone to giving up under any circumstances. But just like with the Eddie Vine case, Grace had turned against him and now he was missing. It was then that she knew, without knowing how she knew, that Boyd was in trouble, that he had quite probably been kidnapped, or worse, by Evans' men, but she wondered how they would go about finding him. Grace knew that two days was a long time for a trail to go cold, and then there was still the problem of the rest of the team. Although they looked to her for guidance, would they bust their balls trying to find him? That morning had answered her question for her.

Sighing again, Grace indulged in a little self-hate as she waited for the vending machine to give her chocolate, imagining that when they found Boyd, he would be even more unforgiving than normal, especially when he learnt that it took they three days to start looking for him. But nothing could be changed now.

A noise made Grace look up and she was startled to see Eve. "I thought you were in the lab," the profiler blurted out.

Eve looked surprised as well. "No. I was just...."

But Grace held her hand up. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me." She moved to one side to allow the pathologist access to the machine. "Any new leads?"

"Nothing," Eve said in a slightly bitter tone, shaking her head. "It's like keep running head first into a brick wall."

"I can imagine." Her eyes were drawn to Eve's hand as she pressed the button to indicate when she wanted. "You've got something...." Grace pointed to the dark red smear on her knuckle.

The pathologist looked down at her hand, her eyes widening a little. "Oh, right, thanks." Hastily she wiped it off. "I should...." Grabbing her snack food, Eve all but ran back to the lab, leaving Grace very confused.

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With trembling hands, Eve tried to light a cigarette and failed. She tried to take calming breaths and failed. That had been close, too close for her liking. She didn't want to talk about anything to anyone, didn't want them asking any questions, especially not Grace. Eve knew if the profiler ever cornered her and demanded any kind of answer, she wouldn't be to lie. She'd crack and crumble and it wouldn't do anyone any good if she did.

The doors to the lab whooshed open, and Eve was a hair's breadth away from screaming at the person who had entered. But upon seeing it was Stella, she allowed herself to relax a little. The French woman opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again, her eyes narrowing slightly, and Eve realised she was staring at her hands, an unlit cigarette held loosely between her fingers.

*'Shit, shit, shit...,'* the pathologist thought, her face paling beyond its normal complexion.

Wordlessly, Stella crossed the room, took the cigarette from Eve's hand, and placed it between her lips. Then she took the lighter, and seconds later placed the lit cigarette back between Eve's fingers.

"Thanks," the pathologist said, her voice shaking only slightly.

Stella shrugged. "No problem."

"Was there something you wanted?" Eve asked after a while, once the nicotine had entered her system and soothed her nerves.

Stella shrugged again. "Not really."

Eve wasn't surprised by her answer. When she had joined the team, the pathologist had been brought up to speed on everything that had occurred the previous year with Stella, Spencer and Felix, and she had received a different account from each member of the team that allowed her to build up a good picture of what had actually happened. Though she never voiced her opinion, Eve had to admit that if she had found herself in the same position as Stella, she would have done the same thing. And it wasn't surprising that the young DC was most comfortable in Eve's company, as the pathologist hadn't been involved in the betrayal, and so wasn't affected.

"What do you think Grace will do?" Stella asked quietly.

Eve looked at her curiously as she lit up another cigarette with now steady hands. "What do you mean?"

"Boyd is missing and we don't know why," she replied.

"Technically Spencer is in charge," Eve pointed out.

"Unless the Commissioner brings someone in over his head."

"Which wouldn't surprise me."

Stella gazed around the room. "But he still looks to Grace."

"Don't we all?" Eve asked.

Stella looked at her. "Why do you think that is?"

"You've worked here longer; you tell me."

The DC shrugged once more. "I'm not sure." She looked around once more. "How do we know Boyd hasn't just...?"

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Grace had just sat down when there was a knock on the door. Without looking up, she said, "Come in, Spence."

He gave her a half-hearted lopsided grin. "How did you know it was me?"

It was a pointless question that really didn't require an answer, but he was staring at her like one was needed. Grace sighed. "Eve's in the lab, I saw Stella go down there a few moments ago, and Boyd isn't here. It's not rocket science."

Spencer's expression slipped. "Fine." He crossed his arms and resumed scowling. "Boyd's missing."

"Well done."

"What are we going to do about it?"

"Why ask me? You're the ranking officer in this unit," Grace replied. "That means you're in charge." She studied him for a moment. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Not at the expense of Boyd's life!" Spencer said loudly, anger colouring his words.

Grace went very still. "How do you know his life is in danger?"

"Oh, come on, Grace!" Spencer started to pace. "We're the only team ever to have gotten this far investigating Evans, and then suddenly Boyd disappears. That seems suspicious to me."

She sighed and held her hands up. "I'm sorry, Spence, it's just...."

He sat down suddenly. "I know. Can't live with him, can't live without him either."

"I think you'd better get Stella and Eve," Grace said quietly after a few moments. "There's something you all need to know."

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"How do we know Boyd hasn't just...?" Stella was saying as Spence popped his head into the lab.

"What about Boyd?" he asked, making both women jump.

"Nothing," Stella said quickly. She was still very nervous around Spencer and it was painfully obvious in everything she did.

The DI pretended not to notice. "Grace wants to see you both. Team meeting."

Eve reluctantly stubbed her half-smoked cigarette out and started to walk out of the lab, Stella trailing behind her, her hesitation almost malleable. For an instant, Eve wished she was stronger so that she could offer the young woman a smile or some other form of reassurance, but the pathologist was having a hard enough time keeping herself together. She shook her head slightly. What was wrong with her? She *had* been so strong for so long and then suddenly, she had crumbled, like someone had swept her feet from underneath her. But Eve knew there didn't necessarily have to be a reason; relapses such as the one she was suffering could occur at any time and for any reason, and especially without warning. Strength had nothing to do with it.

Instead of meeting in the squad room, Spencer led them into Grace's office, and Eve noticed how pale the profiler suddenly looked. The past couple of days she had been a tower of strength, but it was obvious something had happened last night because the change in Grace from the previous afternoon to now was astonishing.

"Please, take a seat," Grace said to them all from the strategically defensive position behind her desk.

Stella immediately perched on the edge couch, her hands clasped in her lap. Eve sat next to her, making sure their thighs touched, hoping that focussing on trying to ease the young French woman's stress would take her mind off her own problems. Spencer closed the door and leant against it, his arms folded across his chest, his dark eyes watchful and his face expressionless.

"Four days ago," Grace began, staring through her window to a spot out in the squad room, "Boyd showed me a letter he had received." She held up a piece of paper. "You can do your thing with it later, Eve. Basically it threatens Boyd's life. He thought Evans had sent it, and I'm inclined to agree."

"So does that mean we're getting close?" Stella asked timidly.

Grace nodded slowly. "That was my assumption, and Boyd's. It tells him to back off immediately or the consequences will be dire. And now Boyd is missing." The simply spoken statement was understood by all listening; the DSI hadn't just done a disappearing act on them, he was now officially MIA. "Three days ago, the day Boyd went missing, we...had an argument, as you no doubt heard."

Spencer nodded, his expression now sombre, tinged with anger. "We heard."

"I accused Boyd...." She sighed and finally looked the team in the eye, one by one. "This isn't easy for me, so let me just get it out. We thought there may have been a leak on the team, and I said that to me, it would either be Stella...or Boyd." Grace's gaze rested on the young DC, whose face had gone pale. "I'm sorry, Stella, but after last year."

"No, it's fine, I understand," she said hurriedly. "But I have nothing...."

"I know," Grace interrupted. "And I don't believe Boyd was responsible either. In fact, I don't think there *is* a leak on this team; I know you all too well." She caught Spencer glaring at Stella, but he said nothing. "Both Boyd and I were frustrated with the lack of leads and we ended up taking it out on each other." She smiled grimly. "As usual. The point is, when I accused Boyd, he said...."

"He'd have staged a kidnapping rather than write a letter," Spencer replied.

Grace looked surprised. "How did you...?"

"We could hear you," he said. "Very clearly."

Eve shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "I heard it too. I was at the vending machine getting chocolate." She shook her head. "I couldn't believe it when Boyd fired you."

"Me either," Stella chipped in.

Spencer was studying Grace carefully. "That explains why you weren't worried about Boyd's absence. What changed your mind?" he asked.

"Boyd may be many things, but bent he is not," Grace replied. "Taking a bribe would constitute the same as yielding to him, and Boyd does not give up."

"We've noticed," Eve said with a small smile.

"So what do we do now?" Spencer asked quietly.

"We find him," Grace replied.

Stella looked around at the team and voiced the question she knew was on all of their minds. "How?"

The profiler smiled thinly. "That is a very good question, but it's part of what we're paid for."

The tone of voice was obvious; the discussion was over. Spencer unfurled himself from behind the door, solicitously holding it open for Eve and Stella before leaving the room himself, but not without giving Grace a small smile first. She didn't return it. The silence that had grown in the room from the profiler's final statement carried out into the squad room, and Eve undoubtedly took it with her to the lab as well. Grace didn't need to tell any of them what to do; they were all capable of working on their own and using their initiative, which she had tried to tell Boyd on countless occasions, but was something he had steadfastly ignored. She knew why. As long as the team didn't do too much independent thinking, he was still in control; he was still needed. Thinking about Boyd made Grace look over to his office and something inside her broke. Even though she was used to not seeing him there, this felt different: it wasn't just simply an empty room; Grace was willing to bet that if she walked across there, it would *feel* empty. Not just an indicator someone had left it, but a sign that someone might not be coming back.

Closing her eyes and putting her head in her hands, Grace whispered, "Oh, Boyd, where are you?" into the darkness she could see.

TBC


	8. Fear

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Somehow, Boyd had lost track of time. He had no idea how long he had been in his torture cell now; was it three days? Four? Five? It didn't matter. All he knew for certain was that he was going to die where he was. His eye was completely unusable now, and he knew without looking in a mirror that it was infected. It felt as though a red hot poker had been pushed into the socket, as though someone had tried to brand the inside of his skull. The swelling of his tongue had gone down, but was still tender, especially after the salt treatment; ironically, it had actually helped to heal the wounds, but Boyd wondered if that was what they wanted. Heal him, then hurt him again. It seemed like it so far.

He knew that sometime after his first flogging session, they had come back and dragged him out. Hope had flared in his chest, and he wondered if they were letting him go. Afterwards, as he lay on the floor on his cell trying to to cry, Boyd wondered how he could have been so stupid. He was taken to a bigger room with a high ceiling and on some strange impulse, he looked up. He wished he hadn't. Before he could fully register what was happening, Boyd's arms were roughly raised over his head, tied at the wrists, and then he was hauled up, his shoulders screaming in protest.

"Since we lost time yesterday," Christian had told him, "We'll have to go longer today. I'm very sorry about that." He didn't sound it in the slightest.

The first few strokes didn't affect Boyd, but by the fourth one, he was ready for screaming. By the twentieth, he was yelling at the top of his voice, and by the fortieth, he had shouted himself hoarse. Not long after that, he could feel himself starting to let go, and it seemed his torturers sensed it too because they stopped. He willed himself not to look around, imagining the blood-splattered walls and flesh decorating the floor like confetti.

"Well, waddya know?" Jensen drawled. "I can see bone."

"Nurse, clean him up," Christian ordered.

The Nurse tried to suppress a shudder at the state of Boyd's back as Jensen and Perry lowered him to the ground. There were no flay marks any more, just a reddened mass of bloody, pulpy flesh, and in a couple of places, she could see the gleaming white of his ribs bones. She tried not to let her hands shake, tried to keep the bile from rising in her throat. What they were doing to Boyd was beyond their normal routine, and the worst part was, they actually seemed to be enjoying it. She wanted to reach out and touch his face, reassure him that everything would be okay, but it would be a lie. And she had been forbidden from speaking, though why, she didn't know. In the long run it wouldn't make any difference any way; it was only a matter of time before they were found out, she could feel it.

As The Nurse started to clean Boyd's wounds as gently as she could, he turned his head to look at her, but his vision was so clouded by pain that he could only make out an outline.

"Help...me...," he ground out, his tongue and lips still too tender to make speaking easy.

The Nurse's eyes widened and she felt herself begin to panic. Turning away, she concentrated on cleaning his back up and hoping that the others hadn't seen or head what was going on.

"Help...me," Boyd repeated, his voice stronger than before.

"Did I tell you to speak?" Christian asked, hunkering down next to Boyd's head. "No, I don't think I did. Nurse, leave us." She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off sharply. "Now."

"What do we do now, boss?" Perry asked.

"First of all, don't call me that. I'm not the boss," Christian replied.

Jensen drew on his cigarette. "In here you are."

Christian inclined his head in acknowledgement of the comment. "Let me think for a moment," he said in answer to Perry's question.

That moment was all Boyd needed. He had found a reserve of strength in the form of desperation and as soon as Christian was distracted, he pushed himself up onto his knees and punched him in the face. As Christian went reeling over backwards, arms flailing, Boyd got to his feet. Jensen reacted first, rushing him on his blind right side, but Boyd was expecting it and side stepped, grabbing the back of Jensen's jacket as he stumbled past him and forcing him head first into the wall. Perry stood rooted to the spot, his expression shocked and confused; without anyone to tell him what to do, he was lost. Boyd took advantage of that and rushed him.

A powerful blow to his face sent him reeling before he reached Perry, and as Boyd went sprawling to the floor, he tasted blood in his mouth, found his tongue far too wet. Christian towered over him, fury etched on his face, his nose streaming blood.

"You fucking *bastard*!" he seethed.

Boyd didn't give Christian the chance to channel his rage. Pulling his legs back, he kicked him solidly in the kneecaps. Christian yelled in pain and fell backwards, careening into Perry who had finally come to his senses and rushed forwards to help. Getting to his feet, Boyd swung around instinctively, but Jensen was out cold on the floor. He turned back just in time to see Christian scrambling up and throwing a punch at him. Boyd moved slightly and drove his fist into the other man's eye.

"Let's see how *you* like it!" he snarled, his anger giving him strength.

The move was quick, like lightning, and Boyd faltered as his brain tried to register what had just happened. At first he thought that Christian had just hit him, but as he opened his mouth to speak, he caught sight of something gleaming, or he thought so. With only one eye, it wasn't easy. No one seemed to be moving, so gently, silently cursing his hand for shaking, Boyd lifted it to his face and touched his cheek, being careful to stay away from his welded-shut eye. His fingers came away sticky with blood and the pain from the merest of touches was excruciating.

"Waddya know?" Jensen drawled, his voice slurring slightly, as he pushed himself to his feet. "I can see bone."

Boyd suddenly felt sickened to the pit of his stomach over his latest injury and he sunk to the floor defeated, dread filling him as his eyes fixed on the knife in Christian's hand. With a murderous expression, Christian started forwards.

"No," Jensen said, his eyes a little unfocussed. "If you dice him up now, the boss'll have *your* guts for garters. Let's just make it so he can't do anything so stupid again."

Christian stared at Boyd for a moment, his eyes boring into the policeman's, gauging his strength and how far they had to go before they could break him. Finally, he nodded.

"Do his left arm in," Christian ordered.

Boyd didn't even try and struggle as Jensen grabbed his arm and braced it over his knee. "Gladly," he said with an evil grin.

Perry put his foot in Boyd's groin and pressed down a little. "Any funny business and I'll stamp so hard you'll have to pee through your arse, you get me?"

Boyd couldn't have replied even if he wanted to because at that moment, Jensen snapped his arm over his leg like a dry twig, the bone piercing the skin of the forearm. Without missing a beat, Jensen turned, took a bar from Christian, and swung it at Boyd's upper arm, the sound of the bone splintering echoing through the room.

"Christian, hold his arm out, will ya? I wanna do this properly," Jensen said.

Christian grabbed the policeman's fingers and pulled, causing Boyd to yell in agony. "What did I tell you about talking? Perry...."

With a vicious grin, Perry stamped down hard as Jensen swung the bar down on Boyd's wrist. Again and again he swung, until the policeman's arm was a zigzagged line, broken in least four places, bone sticking out and blood dripping everywhere.

"That's enough," Christian said. "Get the Nurse in, clean him up a little, then put him back in his cell. I want him fit for our next activity."

That was...however long ago it was. Boyd shifted a little, but only jarred his useless left arm, causing pain to flood his senses again. How long had he been there? Four days? Five? Had he already thought about that? He couldn't be sure. Was anyone looking for him? Did they even care he was missing? Boyd wouldn't blame the team if that was their attitude; he would brought about such thoughts himself. He knew he wasn't the easiest man to work with, knew he could be a complete bastard at times, but he had never had to work at being friends; he had never needed them. And now he found he did, Boyd couldn't think of anyone who would actually come for him, not even Grace. Despite the pain, he could still recall the words of their last argument, some of the last words he had spoken to her, that he might ever speak to her.

*"Fine. Be gone by the end of the month."*

He hadn't meant it, not even for a second. It was a stupid thing, said in the heat of the moment, but so typical of him.

The door swung open, interrupting Boyd's musings, and his three captures walked in. Christian's nose was bandaged up, his left eye black as night, and Jensen was sporting an ugly bruise on his head.

"Let's just kill the fucker," Jensen snarled. Boyd's little escape attempt the previous day had done nothing to improve his mood.

"No," Christian said. "Hold him, right hand out."

Boyd felt two pairs of hangs grabbing his arms in vice like grips, and someone kicked him viciously behind his knees, forcing him to the ground. Suddenly his head cleared, and an unknown emotion flooded his mind and senses: fear. His fear. Boyd tried to swallow but couldn't. He couldn't remember the last time he had been afraid, but he was now. Terrified, if he was honest, though he couldn't explain exactly why.

Then Christian produced a pair of gardening shears, and instantly Boyd understood why he was afraid.

"The best way to do this," Christian said, his tone typically clinical and cold, "Is quickly. Just one sharp snip...." He opened the shears and placed Boyd's little finger between the blades. "And that was how I was going to do you. But after yesterday, you need to be taught some manners."

He closed the shears slowly until they just broke the skin, thin slivers of blood appearing from the cut. Boyd kept himself focussed. Then Christian put a little more pressure on the shears, causing them to bite hard in the flesh of Boyd's finger and he felt himself wanting to cry out, but suddenly Christian stopped.

"Now this is the part that takes some practice," he explained in a teacher-like voice. "If you do it right, you can cut through the bone slowly, and the agony is almost unbearable. Most people pass out before now, and the rest don't manage to stay conscious for the entire cut. Done quickly, they can stand it. But slowly...." He shook his head. "But you seem to be strong, so let's see if you can manage it."

And ever so carefully, Christian applied more pressure to the shears. Boyd felt the blades clear the last bit of flesh and then start to slice through his bone, the first bit of the cut splintering it. He couldn't help it any longer; he screamed. Christian smiled grimly and carried on cutting, a millimetre at a time, until finally, the blades met and there was a soft thud on the floor.

"Hey, look, he's still awake!" Perry exclaimed in surprise.

Jensen looked at Boyd critically. "That right?" He pulled his lighter out and placed it under the bloody stump of the policeman's little finger. "Won't be for long," he said, sparking the flame.

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

Five days. As Grace walked down the corridor towards her office, she couldn't believe it had been five day since Boyd went missing. Part of her felt like it was a lifetime, part of her felt like it was only yesterday when she saw him last.

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder," she muttered quietly to herself, the irony of the statement not lost on her at all.

The meeting with the Commissioner had gone less than brilliantly. His cold manner set Grace on edge, and she found it increasingly difficult to get her words out. But his orders surprised her; until they received word, Boyd was to be treated as missing, but not of high importance. The investigation into the Brent murder would continue with Spencer in charge, until a suitable replacement for Boyd could be found. Or, if Spencer proved himself above and beyond the call of duty, the Commissioner would allow him to remain in charge of the team. Grace knew how hard the DI would have to work to get that privilege and she knew the Commissioner had set the bar impossibly high on purpose. Shaking her head as she walked, she wondered how things could get worse.

The team were waiting for her in the squad room when she returned from her meeting with the Commissioner and they knew as soon as they saw her that it hadn't gone well. The ladies were indignant on Spencer's behalf over the news, and the DI barely held his anger in check. On the one level, he could understand it; a unit such as theirs really would function better with an officer of a higher rank and more experience at the head. But at the same time, he was due for a promotion; he wanted that next step up the ladder, and he had been with the unit since its start. If that wasn't enough experience, Spencer didn't know what was. And, if things miraculously worked out well for him, it would mean Stella would get promoted as well, and a new junior officer would be brought in. Everyone would win. But there was still the problem of Boyd being missing and them not being allowed to find him. When Grace had delivered that piece of news, the three of them erupted in indignant anger.

"Don't they care that he could be in danger?" Spencer had asked.

"Maybe we should check the Commissioner's background," Stella had suggested darkly.

Eve had just stared at Grace. "So, what do we do now?"

As Grace entered her room, she smiled at the memory. Despite everything, they were still coming to her for advice and leadership, a typical 'mother knows best' scenario, which was amusing and a little disturbing at the same time. So, in the day and a half that had followed her meeting with the Commissioner, the team had continued to try and gather evidence on Evans in the hope of tying him to the Brent murder, whilst looking into finding Boyd on the quiet. It wasn't easy.

Grace didn't go to her desk. Instead, she sat heavily on the couch and tried to stop herself from looking over at Boyd's office. He wasn't there, and when she went in yesterday, it was as she had feared; completely empty, as though his office knew Boyd wasn't coming back. It was stupid, Grace knew; she was simply projecting her own feelings, trying to find an outlet for them that she could deal with instead of just admitting how she felt. The thought of a traitor on the team still haunted her, but so did Stella's dark words.

*"Maybe we should check the Commissioner's background."*

If the Commissioner was in Evans' pocket, then there was fuck all they could do about anything. His uncaring attitude towards Boyd's absence didn't earn him any points either. Grace leant her head against the back of the couch and tried to centre herself. She had arrived at work earlier than anyone else in the hopes of trying to get hold of the CCTV footage for the police car park, to see if it would give them any leads. Reminding herself of that task made Grace sit up. She had work to do. Standing, she took off her coat and threw it back onto the couch along with her bag before walking over to her desk.

Grace stopped dead. She was certain that she hadn't been drinking last night at work, yet there was red wine all over the table and some of the papers she had left there. Cursing, Grace went to move a folder, but her hand fell short, ice cold fear snaking over her skin like a winter breeze. The liquid was too dark, too thick to be red wine... Then her eyes were drawn to a box. With shaking hands, Grace reached for it, reading her name on the outside, curiosity overriding the sense of dread over what would be found inside. Her breath coming in short, painful gasps, Grace lifted the lid up.

And stared in horror before falling into a dead faint on the floor. The box tumbled from her grasp, its contents firmly secure within, now on display for all to see.

TBC


	9. Compromised

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Stella paused outside the office, biting her lip nervously. She wasn't sure about her idea to come in early and make a start on looking for Boyd on the quiet. Had she been any other member of the team, or had the past not occurred the way it did, there wouldn't have been a problem. As it was, everything had happened the way it had and she found herself under almost constant scrutiny. Stella knew she had deserved it, but still, she thought that after so many months of hard toil, the team would start to trust her, even if it was only a little bit. But they hadn't, and that was why she found herself wondering whether she should be there or not. If she found a breakthrough while there on her own, the others would wonder how she managed it, but if she waited until the others had arrived, they would think she was being lazy. Stella sighed. It was a no-win situation whichever way she looked at it and the sheer despair of it all made her want to sink to her knees and weep.  
That thought brough her up sharp. She was *not* weak, no matter what her colleagues thought of her. She would show them that she belonged on the team, and that they could trust her. After all, Stella started to think as she dug her key-card from her pocket, she wasn't the only one who had made mistakes regarding a case.

The security system that had been installed at the main doors to the CCHQ was a recent addition and one the team were still getting used to. It had been put in at the Commissioner's insistence, though Boyd hadn't objected at all, much to the surprise of the others. The reasoning behind it was fairly solid, Stella supposed, but in truth it made things very awkward. If you wanted to go to the bathroom, you had to remember to take your key-card with you. If you wanted to use the vending machine, the same applied. The amount of times one or other of them had been locked out through simple forgetfulness was amazing; Stella had stopped counting after a week because it was too much like hard work.

Finally through the doors, Stella made her way towards her desk, looking instinctively at Boyd's office first, then Grace's. It was habit; one glance at their faces would set the mood for the rest of the day, if they were already at work. Boyd's room was, of course, empty and cast in shadow, making the place look more forbidding and uninviting than when the DSI was in residence and in a foul mood. But Grace's door was open and Stella found that highly unusual. Slowing, she looked properly into the room, and her eyes were instantly drawn to the profiler's prone form on the floor.

"Oh, God! Grace!" Stella was about to drop to her knees when she spotted something that had obviously tumbled from Grace's hand, a box that contained....

The young DC stared for a fraction of a second before she started screaming. She was still screaming when Spencer arrived some time later, Eve not far behind him. The DI rushed in, cursing the security doors furiously for delaying their entry and desperately wishing he was armed.

"What is it? What's happened?" Then he looked down. "Grace!"

"Spence, wait!" Eve commanded, her voice like a whip crack. "There might be some evidence to collect." She glanced at the desk and her face paled. "That's an awful lot of blood."

The muscles in Spencer's jaw worked furiously for a moment before he nodded. "But make it quick," he ordered her.

The scientist nodded. "Stella, get me a pair of gloves from your desk." There was no movement. Eve clapped her hands loudly. "Stella! Now!"

Once the DC had done as the pathologist asked, Spencer took her arm. "Come on, let's make some coffee and then you can tell me what happened."

"I don't know," Stella replied, her voice shaking. "I came in not long ago and saw Grace lying there. And the box..." She shuddered as she recalled its ghastly contents.

Spencer was silent as he made coffee, then he led Stella over to their desks. "Alright, what time did you arrive?" he started to question her.

In the meantime, Eve processed the scene, noting remotely how callous their actions would have looked to an outsider. Grace was still out cold on the floor, yet the first they had done was to collect evidence, but given the circumstances, it was understandable. The box and its contents were bagged, but not without a shiver of revulsion; the pathologist dearly hoped she was wrong about her guess as to where it had come from. Then she moved to the desk and took samples of blood, checking the place for fingerprints or hair but Eve didn't expect to get anything. Finally she checked Grace's clothing, just in case. Once finished, she called out to Spencer and Stella.

"Help me get Grace onto the couch and then fetch a glass of water," Eve said to Stella.

Spencer scowled slightly at being given orders by, in his mind, a civilian, but he swallowed his pride and helped the women to gently lift the profiler off the floor. Holding her hand, he knelt beside her, carefully pressing the backs of his fingers against her forehead.

"Grace? Grace, can you hear me?" he said softly.

The profiler stirred slowly. "Boyd?" she replied.

Under any other circumstances, Spencer would have rolled his eyes. Ever would have found it amusing, and Stella would have been shocked. Not today. "No, Grace, it's Spence," the DI told her.

Grace struggled to sit up and Spencer helped her. "I thought I heard Boyd,..." As she stared off into the distance, she missed the dark looks her colleagues shared.

Eve tapped Spencer's shoulder and he nodded understandingly as he moved aside. "Grace, look at me for a minute, please," the pathologist said, holding her finger up in front of the profiler's eyes and moving it from side to side, then up and down.

"I'm fine, Eve," Grace replied with a faint smile. "Just a bit bruised from...fainting...." Her eyes widened and her face paled. "Oh my God." She looked today her desk, but Stella was stood in the way, blocking the view.

"It's alright, Grace, we've moved everything," the DC told the older woman quietly.

The profiler smiled in gratitude and sipped at her water. "How long have I been out?"

Spencer glanced at his watch. "At least ten to fifteen minutes."

"Feels like a lifetime."

"Grace, I need to...."

"...Ask me some questions, Spence," she finished for the DI. "I know. Go ahead."

Before he started, Spencer turned to Eve. "Why don't you start on the forensics?"

"Alright." Eve squeezed Grace's shoulder briefly before leaving the room.

"Would you like another glass of water?" Stella asked her, even though she was still in shock herself. "Or a cup of tea?"

"Not right now, Stella, thank you."

Spencer sat himself on Grace's couch. "What time did you arrive this morning?"

"I'm not exactly sure, but it was about seven fifteen. The security machine will give you the exact time."

"We'll check that later," Spencer told her. "So you've been out for about twenty minutes. Was anyone here what you arrived?"

Grace shook her head. "No. It was just me."

"You said you thought you heard Boyd...."

The accusation was all to clear in Spencer's voice and Stella winced at his ham-fisted tactic, hoping the profiler wouldn't notice. It was a futile hope. "I was still waking up," Grace said calmly. "Just because I said that doesn't mean I actually heard him. He wasn't here, Spence. Check the security log."

"I can do that now if you like," Stella offered.

Spencer shook his head. "Later. What did you do when you arrived?"

"I came in and...sat down on the couch for a minute or two." Grace smiled glumly. "I was wondering where Boyd was and how the hell we're going to find him," she admitted. "Then I go up, put my coat and bag on the couch, and walked over to my desk. I noticed...red everywhere, and thought it was red wine at first. But then I noticed it was...it was too thick...." Her voice started to shake. "...Then I saw...the...box...."

Spencer put his hand on her arm. "It's alright, Grace, that's enough." He looked up. "Stella, see if we can clean Grace's desk now, please." Then he stood and extended his hand. "Come on, let's get you out of her for a moment."

"Thanks, Spence."

"Boyd's office?" he asked tentatively. "Or squad room?"

"Squad room."

As soon as Grace was sitting down again, Stella came out of the profiler's office. "Eve says it's okay to clean up. I'll make a start."

"I'll help."

Grace found their behaviour somewhat disingenuous and hollow; they once again rushed to her aid, much like they had during the Tony Greene case, but they were in no hurry to save Boyd. They had, all of them, turned their backs on him so quickly again, like during the Eddie Vine case. It made her feel sick. She knew Boyd possessed a singularly difficult personality, but he was loyal and that's what mattered the most in their job. But when he needed loyalty back, the team shunned him, and Grace knew that no amount of words would make them view him in a different light. Even if they found him and he survived, they would still turn their backs on him at the drop of a hat. And if he died, they would soon forget him. It seemed to be the price for living and breathing the job; for being consistently steadfast, if somewhat unreliable at times.

Her office clean, Grace watched Spencer and Stella walk towards her silently. Stella sat down at her desk, Spencer hovering behind her, and Grace knew they were calling up the security log for the doors. As the information came up, Eve entered from the lab, her face grim.

"Are you okay?" she asked Grace, surprising the profiler. Normally the pathologist simply came out with whatever the problem was, or by saying 'we have a problem'. Her unexpected question made Grace fear the worst.

"I'm fine," she replied, attempting a smile and not quite managing it.

Spencer suddenly looked over at them, his expression thunderous with rage. "We've got a key-card log in."

"And?" Grace asked quietly.

"It's Boyd's," Stella replied when it became obvious that Spencer was too angry to speak.

The silence was impermeable, thick and cloying like a heavy-scented perfume, and Grace found herself slipping back into unconsciousness from sheer shock. "It can't be," she said numbly, shaking her head.

Beside her, Eve was mimicking her action. "It can't be," she echoed.

"Why not?" Spencer spoke up, his ire barely contained. "The bastard up and disappears, makes us worry, and for what? No fucking reason at all! And now he's gone and take some poor bastard's thumb just to make an illusion seem real? Fuck him!"

"Spence, you know there could be any number of other explanations for why Boyd's key-card was used," Grace said, her voice growing shrill with stress. "It doesn't mean for a minute that he was here. Maybe whoever has kidnapped him took it and came in."

"Grace, why do you keep defending him?" Spencer asked desperately. "After everything's he's done, everything he's put this team through...."

"It wasn't Boyd," Eve said firmly and loudly. "I've got a print back off the thumb."

Stella looked surprised. "Already?"

Eve nodded. "I know. What are the chances? And why was it so quick? Because it's Boyd's thumb." She waited for a moment for the news to sink in before continuing. "And before you even *think* it, Spence, I don't believe for a moment that Boyd cut his own thumb off. I've examined it quickly, but at a guess I'd say the digit was cut off very slowly. The pain would have been excruciating."

"So, we need to look at other explanations," Stella said after a while.

"The kidnappers...," Grace started to say, but Spencer shook his head.

"The only way into the building so early is through the front door and the desk sergeant would have noticed someone he didn't know. Plus everyone has to show ID or sign in, and I think he would have noticed if someone had come in posing as Boyd," the DI said.

"But we should question whoever was on duty just to be sure," Stella added, and Spencer nodded. Then an uncomfortable silence ensued as they tried to think of other plausible explanations.

"Look, no one wants to say this but we're all thinking it," Eve said eventually. "Only members of the team have access to our offices. Anyone else has to get special permission from the Commissioner himself and we know he doesn't give those out lightly. And whoever did use Boyd's key-card to get in here would have had to use their own ID to get past the desk sergeant."

"What are you saying?" Grace asked.

The pathologist looked around again and took a deep breath. "Unless there's someone else in the Met who has a really huge grudge against Boyd, which I could certainly understand but find unlikely, the answer seems obvious to me. The team is compromised. One of us is a traitor."

TBC


	10. Terror

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

Boyd had never wished for death, nor was he a man prone to wasting time on regrets, but lately he seemed to have done nothing but wish and regret. Every second of every day. He wanted to go back, to change everything he'd ever done wrong, and even the things he'd done right; he'd done them better, even perfect. But he couldn't, it wasn't possible, and now he realised with cold dread there were far fewer days ahead than behind. He was going to die where he was and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it. His escape attempt had not only failed, but had earned him the loss of two fingers and the thumb from his right hand. They had also worked on his left arm some more, and now Boyd wondered if there were actually any bones in there, it felt so flexible. The pain had gone beyond agony, beyond any level of endurance he could stand, until he couldn't feel anything. At that point, Boyd knew things couldn't get any worse. He didn't know how wrong he was.

After they had dragged him back to his cell, and The Nurse had cleaned his wounds, Boyd had managed some semblance of sleep, but didn't feel even the slightest bit refreshed when he woke up again. He wanted to stretch, to run a hand over his face or to scratch his head, but with his left arm useless and his right hand low on digits, anything was impossible. Boyd almost laughed at the absurdity of the whole thing. His captors had all but incapacitated him, his right eye no use at all, his left one half closed now because of the beating he had endured after they had taken his fingers. His legs were weak from several days without food and with very little water, and the scabs on his back opened and bled every time he moved, at least where the wounds had started to knit. Boyd was all too aware that bone was showing on his back as well as his face, and if he ever made it out of there alive, he didn't want to think what his life would be like, whether his arm or eye would be salvageable or not.

The door opened, but Boyd didn't react. He didn't have the strength, even if he had wanted to. Strangely, his captors were silent when they entered the room. Someone grabbed his right arm, he felt the prick of a needle in the crook of his elbow, and then he was alone again.

*'What the hell was that all about?'* Boyd thought, imagining frowning because he couldn't actually manage the expression. A wave of exhaustion swept over him suddenly and he fell back into a restless sleep.

Sometime later, Boyd awoke to find the room was spinning and lurching like a ship on stormy seas. He tried to focus on something and couldn't understand why he could only see through one eye. His confusion grew when he attempted to lift his arm and found it wouldn't shift at all. Huffing a little, Boyd tried his other arm, which moved successfully, but when it reached eye level, he stopped. To his fuddled brain, it seemed like he was missing a few digits. How bizarre.

"You're awake. Good. I thought you were going to sleep all day and that wouldn't have been good for any of us."

Boyd recognised the voice: Clinical Coldness. He was sure the man had another name, but he had no idea what it was.

"He looks like shit," a voice drawled.

Boyd connected it to Drawl, but again, the real name eluded him. What the hell was the matter with him?

"D'you think it's worked, Christian?" a third man asked.

"We'll soon find out," Clinical Coldness replied. Christian was his name. Boyd tried to hold onto that thought. "What's your full name?"

"Peter Timothy Boyd," he said promptly.

"Your rank?"

"Detective Superintendent."

"Are you good at pissing people off?"

"I seem to have a knack for it, yes," Boyd said, silently cursing himself. Why was he being so cooperative...? Cold reality seeped down his spine. "What have you...?"

A fist connected with his face, hitting his half open eye, and almost immediately it began to swell. "Don't answer back or we'll have to administer some more special treatment," Drawl told him.

"Fuck off, you ugly son of a bitch."

"Jensen! No," Christian said sharply. Drawl – Jensen – dropped his fist sullenly. "It's the drug, makes him tell the truth, doesn't it?"

"So?"

Christian rolled his eyes. "Just keep control of yourself. There'll be plenty of time for fun in a while. Let's get him warmed up first." He looked at the policeman. "Let's talk about your personal life. Were you a good husband?"

"No, I was too selfish."

"Much like in the other areas of your life?"

"Yes...no," Boyd said, his tone a touch defiant.

"Wrong answer," Christian replied. Punches suddenly rained down on Boyd's body and he convulsed in pain with each hit. "What about being a father? Were you good at that?"

"Not really."

"Did you love your son?"

"'Did'?" Boyd repeated. "I always have. I always will!"

Again he felt fists beating his body, then something more solid connected with his ribs, snapping at least two like dried twigs. "Bar was a good idea, Perry," Jensen said.

"I do have 'em sometimes," Perry, the third man, replied.

Christian sat himself in a chair and continued. "Now, Boyd, do you treat your team well?"

"No. Well, sometimes, but not often enough," Boyd replied. He voice was hoarse and scratchy, and his mouth hurt like hell, but even if he hadn't want to answer, the drug didn't give him that option.

"Could you have saved Mel?"

"No."

The bar hit him again, no warning at all, and this time he fell to the floor writhing. He could almost imagine the bruises flowering on his skin, spreading like ink blots as he was beaten. Another rib snapped in protest and Boyd cried out in pain.

"I think he needs a lesson in selective noise," Christian said.

Grinning evilly, Jensen whipped his lighter out and began torching Boyd's lips, which soon turned black and started to crack. But strangely, the policeman didn't feel much pain, and his surprise must have shown on his battered face.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Christian said, looking at him in a detached fashion. "As well as the truth drug, we gave you a nice combination of pain killers and the odd thing to help boost your endurance. Wouldn't want you failing on the last hurdle, now, would we?"

"Fuck...you," Boyd ground out.

It happened so quick that even later on, Boyd couldn't work out the chronology. He swore at Christian just as Jensen swung the crow bar at his torso again. A rib snapped, but this one curved inwards, piercing his lung as easily as a pin in a balloon, cleaving a small hole in the skin of his stomach as the bone finished its journey. In response to the pain, Boyd sucked in a deep breath through his ground-together teeth. The pressure of the air entering his lungs caused a fountain of blood to arch through the wound, spraying Jensen from forehead to waist.

"Fucking hell!" he swore, jumping back and spitting on the floor. "What the fuck?"

"Shit, I told you to be careful!" Christian said in exasperation.

Perry held his hands up. "Weren't me!"

Boyd's breathing was ragged now and he felt like his life was on the final leg of its journey. "Fuck...you," he repeated.

Jensen, who had stripped off his jacket and shirt and was now standing bare chested, suddenly froze and glared at the policeman. "Fuck you, eh? Now that sounds like an excellent idea. Do you remember what I said about being nailed? I think today is your lucky day."

Boyd heard Jensen unbuckling his own belt, then felt his own trousers being yanked cruelly down. He wanted to do something, anything to stop what was about to happen, but he was more helpless than a day old kitten, and in that moment in time, he would have literally sold his soul to go back in time and drop the Brent murder case before the team had even started investigating it. It wasn't worth dying over, but hindsight, Boyd knew, was a bitch.  
He sensed someone standing behind him, felt hands on his hips, and he braced himself....

"Jensen, stop."

The voice belonged to a new person, Boyd could tell that, and an educated guess told him it was 'the boss' even before Jensen said, "Sure thing, Boss. I was just...."

"I know what you were about to do. It stops now," The Boss said.

Boyd saw Jensen pale and gulp as he started to pull his blood stained clothes on hurriedly. "Sure. Anything you say."

There was something strange about the voice, but Boyd was too drugged up to concentrate. "Has he given you anything useful?" The Boss asked.

Christian's eyes widened a fraction. "No one said we were supposed to be gathering information, just...roughing him up, you know? Making an example of him."

"You've done that. But during that time, did he tell you anything?"

Boyd wished he knew what it was about The Boss's voice that was off. "No," Christian said. "Nothing we didn't already know, anyway." He paused. "Your identity is safe."

"Good," The Boss replied. "Finish this tonight. I want his body found somewhere public. I want it to be a clear message to the others."

"Don't worry," Christian assured him. "It will be."

"It had better be."

Fuzzy with drugs, Boyd turned his head to the strange voice, trying to understand why it sound so odd. But before he had gotten very far, he felt someone kick him on the back of the knees, making his legs collapse beneath him, and then he was rolled onto his back. Through his half-open eye, all he could make out was the general shape of a person, who was bathed in shadow to start with, making identification of any kind impossible. Boyd couldn't have even said what gender they were for sure. Then all kind of thought, even incoherent ones, fled from his mind as he felt someone's foot pressing down on his throat.

"That was a stupid move," The Boss said in a low voice. "It seems you have not learnt your lesson even now." The pressure increased and Boyd could feel his skin bruising, being stretched almost to the point of splitting. "But by the time the lads have finished with you, I am almost certain you will understand the error of your ways."

The pressure increased again, until Boyd felt the inky blackness of unconsciousness come to take him. Then suddenly, it was gone, and he heard footsteps walking away, followed by a heavy silence descending on the room.

"Shit," Jensen exclaimed after a while. "You know, that b...."

"Watch your mouth!" Christian said sharply, pointing at Boyd. "He isn't dead yet and if by some sort of miracle he escapes, we don't want The Boss's identity compromised, do we?"

"Michael ain't gonna be happy," Perry put in.

Christian glared at him. "When are you going to get it into your thick skull that Evans is a relic? He's grown too complacent and too cocky, and very soon, The Boss'll do him in. But he's useful for now. Stops the coppers from knowing the real truth."

Jensen took a drag of his cigarette. "So what do you want to do now, Christian?"

"I think we've just about exhausted the possibilities for torture, don't you? Besides, he's beginning to bore me." He dragged his eyes over the half-naked, battered body of Boyd. "But you might still get a little fun, Jensen. I can see a bit you've missed."

Jensen followed Christian's gaze, then looked at the cigarette he was holding. "I've just a great idea," he said with a sick grin, taking the burning cigarette and advancing on Boyd's genitals.

TBC


	11. Betrayed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verraden = betrayed.

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It had started at her left temple, a dull throbbing that promised to develop into a mind-numbing headache before long. Grace closed her eyes and gently massaged the vein just under the skin. Slowly, the tension ebbed away, the pain going with it, and after half an hour, the headache had disappeared. She restrained from doing a gleeful jig, though she felt happier than she had done in at least a week. The euphoria didn't last long. Without warning, pain flared behind her right eye, spreading steadily up to her right temple, then taking the path down the right side of her head, the throbbing that accompanied it agonising. Spots of bright light exploded in Grace's vision and every small noise sounded like an army of mice with cheese graters had taken up residence in her ears. She would have liked nothing more than to take the rest of the day off so she could go home and sleep, but she knew nothing short of a miracle would allow that scenario to happen.

It had been a tense couple of days, ever since Eve's sombre statement. *'The team is compromised. One of us is a traitor.'* The thought had crossed Grace's mind, but even with the evidence, and the occurrences of the last couple of days, she still refused to believe that one of the team could be responsible for kidnapping Boyd or for betraying the unit. It seemed incomprehensible to her that one of either Stella, Spencer or Eve would want to do something like that. A sickening realisation followed that thought; each one of them probably thought *she* was a likely candidate for being the betrayer along with the other two members of the team. Grace shook her head, then grimaced as she remembered her killer migraine. It was simply inconceivable; there *had* to be another explanation. If asked a couple of days ago, Grace would have stuck to that statement like chewing gum to the bottom of someone's shoe. But now...now she was starting to have doubts, strong ones that weighed like boulders on her shoulders.

Three hours after Eve's world-stopping statement, the team had separated to different areas of the offices, not only to calm themselves and regain their equilibrium, but also to quell the growing reaction of paranoia. As soon as the words had left Eve's mouth, Grace found herself wondering which one of them would have the best reason or the most to gain from Boyd being kidnapped, or even killed. Eve had a past to hide, Stella's affiliations were still suspect, and Spencer...as far as Grace could see, he had no reason for hurting the unit or anything to gain. If he was behind it all, and his goal was to become the new head of the cold case squad, it had seriously backfired on him. And then, of course, there was herself. She didn't have anything to gain by damaging the unit, but she had a damn good reason for getting rid of Boyd, perhaps the best of all. Because of all the team, she was the one who had been treated the worst. Grace knew that in the professional world, age wasn't such a big factor; just because you were older didn't mean you were in charge. Older people with more experience had often had to stand aside for some young pup because the big boss in charge said so, and Grace had gotten used to such treatment, especially as she grew from a young pup to an 'older' person. But with Boyd, she expected to at least be treated like an equal. They had met before the unit was formed, though only by a year or two and only occasionally, but they gelled well, and when she was asked to join the squad, Grace jumped at the chance. Being treated like an equal had lasted for perhaps twelve months and then Boyd's true, controlling nature showed through. Unfortunately for him, Grace was older, and she was technically a civilian, so she didn't bow to his every whim. Instead, she dug her heels in and fought back. Their 'discussions' were legendary amongst the team, and almost had the same reputation throughout the Met, but lately, Grace had grown tired of the constant fighting, and to her, that was one of the best reasons to get rid of Boyd, especially after their last argument.

*"Fine. Be gone by the end of the month."*

She knew she was a logical choice for being the traitor in the team, but she doubted whether any of the others would have the courage to voice that thought. As for herself, Grace did not want to point the finger at anyone, though to her disappointment, she found herself torn between Eve and Stella, leaning more towards Stella because of her past record, especially with what happened with Boyd's thumb print. The day after the package had arrived, Eve had been sat in with Grace chatting about the case and Boyd's disappearance, Spencer was off setting up an interview with the desk sergeant on duty the night before Grace received her thumb-package, and Stella was getting drinks...or so they thought. Eve hadn't been gone from Grace's office for ten minutes when she came bursting back into the squad room, the doors banging in a way that was reminiscent of Boyd and made the team look up in surprise.

*"It's gone," the pathologist stated flatly.

Spencer frowned. "What has?"

"Boyd's...the thumb," Eve said awkwardly. "It's gone."

Grace came out of her office with her glasses in one hand. "What do you mean, gone?"

Eve glared. "I mean it isn't anywhere in the lab, and yes, I have looked *everywhere* before anyone asks. Not only that, but it seems Boyd's fingerprint file has been erased from the computers as well."

"Meaning?" Stella asked hesitantly.

"Without that information, there's absolutely *nothing* to corroborate our 'story', as the Commissioner put it, that Boyd has been kidnapped," Eve said, collapsing into a chair.

"Was it there earlier on?" Grace asked, trying not to think about exactly what she was asking. Digits which had been removed from hands were bad enough, but when they belonged to someone she knew, someone she... It was too much.

Eve nodded. "Before I came to see you. When I got back, it had gone."

"So that would make me and Stella prime suspects," Spencer stated matter-of-factly, "Since we were both out of the office at that time."

"I was getting tea," Stella protested, her eyes wide with fear.

Spencer looked at her. "And I was trying to locate the desk sergeant on duty three nights ago. So either of us could have slipped unnoticed into the lab."

Stella felt herself growing irritated, the feeling quenching the fear like a monsoon. "What about Eve? How do we know everything was there before she came to talk to Grace?"

"Because I said it was and out of the two of us, I'm the most trustworthy!" Eve snapped.

"Really?" Stella replied, her tone piercing.

The colour drained from Eve's face as a single thought of two words ran through her mind. *'She knows'*. Grace caught the interaction even if Spencer missed it, and quickly she intervened before the situation deteriorated.

"For the moment, let's just assume that everyone on the team is innocent, okay?" the profiler said. "Otherwise we'll never solve this case. If someone could get into the office, they can certainly get into the lab."

"Boyd," Spencer muttered darkly.

"Oh, for God's sake, Spence, will you give it a rest?" Grace snapped. "Boyd may be many things, but I don't believe for a second that he would cut his own thumb off as some sort of...some sort of...."  
Spencer held his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright. I'm sorry."*

Grace massaged the right side of her head, willing the pain to go away, but it wasn't taking any notice of her. If things had just stopped with the disappearance of the thumb – she still couldn't think of it as Boyd's – then it wouldn't have been too bad. Unfortunately, that wasn't the end; in fact, it was just the beginning, as yesterday, a stack of folders and odd sheets of paperwork went missing, files important to the case and to nailing Evans. This time it was Stella who noticed, and suspicion fell onto the other three, although it was difficult to think Grace was involved as she had been with at least one member of the team at all times. But both Spencer and Eve had been left alone for a while, and tensions in the office had been running extremely high when they all left the previous night. No goodbyes had been uttered, each eager to leave and escape the doubting expressions of the others.

That morning hadn't started much better, with Spencer and Stella arguing before they had even entered the squad room, then Stella and Eve had started bitching at each other and Spencer had to break up a cat fight, although Grace was certain if left to their own devices, it would have been more like a boxing match. Now the team had separated themselves and Grace was glad for the peace and quiet. Although they had endured their share of difficult situations, she was certain nothing came close to this, not even Mel's death or Spencer being shot. No, this was something else entirely.

Her headache growing to even more agonising highs, Grace reached for the aspirin in her top drawer, but stopped short. As stupid as it sounded, even to her, while she was feeling pain she knew she was alive and she felt like the moment the pain disappeared, the moment she was numb to it, she would be numb to everything, including Boyd's absence. Instead, the profiler went back to massaging her temples and attempting to relax her mind, glad when some of the tension began to ebb from her head. It didn't last long.

A sudden commotion outside made Grace jump almost right out of her skin and swearing loudly, she turned to see what was going on. Outside in the squad room, Eve was holding something in Stella's face; the latter's expression was one of shock and horror. Spencer entered the room from the direction of the lab and just stood there staring. Whatever had happened, Grace could see the situation deteriorating rapidly, and so with a heavy sigh, she stood and left her office.

"...Lying bitch!" Eve finished shouting at Stella.

"Alright, that's enough," Grace said, but no one heard her. Taking a deep breath, she used her Boyd voice. "I said, that's enough!" All heads in the room turned towards her. "Now, what's going on?"

"I found *this* in Stella's bag!" Eve said, brandishing a card like a sword.

"I didn't put it there!" Stella protested.

Grace held her hands up. "Alright! Everyone sit down and calm down. Now, Eve, tell me what happened."

"I came in to get some coffee and knocked Stella's bag off her desk by accident," the pathologist explained. "As I was picking things up, I noticed this."

Grace looked once again at the card in Eve's hand, a cold ball of fear forming in the pit of her stomach. "Spence."

The DI walked over and took the item from Eve. "It's Boyd's key-card," he said heavily.

"I don't know how it got into my bag!" Stella shouted, nearly in hysterics. "Eve could have just pretended she found it there and actually taken it out of her pocket!"

Eve glared at her. "Why would I want to do something like that?"

"To shift the blame," Stella replied.

"From what?"

"Why do I keep seeing blood on your hands?" Stella countered suddenly.

Eve paled visibly. "That's not what we're discussing," she said, her voice trembling slightly.

Spencer, however, was looking at Grace. "What do we do?"

She barked a short, harsh laugh. "Why are you asking me, Spence? You're the one in charge."

"And right now I don't want to be," he replied. "But it's not a choice I have, is it?"

Grace shook her head, her expression softening. "No, it isn't."

"Eve, bag that card and then tomorrow test it for fingerprints."

"That might not tell us much," the pathologist replied. "After all, both you and I have touched it, Boyd most certainly will have...."

"I have," Grace spoke up, her admission surprising no one.

Spencer nodded. "True, but find out for certain whose fingerprints are on it. If Stella's aren't there, we know she's innocent, and if the only other sets belong to us...." He gestured to himself, Eve and Grace. "...Well, we've got a big problem."

"And until then?" Eve asked, staring at Stella.

Spencer sighed. "I'm sorry, Stella, but I'm going to have to put you in a cell. Your past history is against you and this is the second incident of the past few days that puts you as a suspect. It's just until tomorrow," he continued hurriedly when the DC looked fit to burst into tears.

"Unless her fingerprints are on the key-card," Eve said.

"Eve, shut up," Grace told her sharply. "We don't need playground antics." She rubbed her temples again. "Alright, Spence, lock Stella up. Eve, put the key-card somewhere safe in the lab, and then I suggest we all go home." Without waiting for a reply, she turned and went back into her office, slamming the door shut in a manner that was extremely reminiscent of Boyd.

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Stella sat in the cold, dank cell, her knees drawn right up to her chest, her chin resting on her kneecaps, her arms wrapped around her legs in a vain attempt to ward off the chill that emanated not only from the room, but from her predicament. It wasn't happening, it *couldn't* be, not after everything she had already been through. She was innocent, she knew she was, but because of her past indiscretions, the others thought she was guilty. The evidence against her was damning as well; missing paperwork, missing evidence, Boyd's key-card in her bag. It didn't look good at all.

Though she didn't show it, the young DC actually missed her boss. Yes, he was gruff. Yes, he was stubborn. Yes, he was an all out bastard at times. But underneath it all, Stella could see that he cared; she could see they were alike in many ways, kindred spirits though she was certain Boyd would never see it that way. And when the news hit that he was missing, Stella wanted to go out there and tear every inch of London up looking for him. It surprised her...no, *shocked* her that the rest of the team didn't seem that interested, and so because she wanted to be accepted, she kept quiet as well. Now she wished she had spoken out, said something that first day, because if she had, there was a possibility Boyd would be back with them now, and no one would keep looking at her sideways wondering if she really was dirty.

But Stella also knew that there *was* a traitor on the team, or someone extremely high up in the chain of command. Her money was on the Commissioner, and it still was, despite the news that had reached them just a few hours ago; while out playing golf, the Commissioner had collapsed due to a heart attack and was now in hospital. But it didn't mean he wasn't guilty. If they had have found Boyd the day after he had disappeared, they would never have found the traitor and in the grand scheme of things, that was what was important.

It didn't make Stella feel any better, though, because at that moment in time, it was *her* who was locked up like a criminal, and if through a conducted investigation they decided she was guilty.... She shuddered at the thought of prison, of the shame it would bring not only her, but her family and the team.

The bolt on the door being shot made Stella jump straight off the cot, landing awkwardly on her feet. Hope flared as she thought who it might be: Eve come to apologise; Spencer come to tell her they'd found Boyd; Grace come to take her home. The answer, though, was not one she wanted; the person who entered the room was none of the above.

"You're a pretty little thing, ain't ya?" he drawled, his eyes raking her body up and down in a manner that was decidedly sordid and made Stella feel violated.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?" she asked, cursing her voice for shaking.

The man leered at her. "Doesn't matter. All that matters is we won't be disturbed." He shut the door behind him and Stella heard the bolt on the outside hit home.

*'Merde! There's more than one of them!'* she thought, panic rising in her.

"If you want to scream, pretty, feel free," the man said with a sick grin. "No one can hear you." He produced a long, wicked looking knife from under his jacket. "Now you and me are gonna have a little fun."

"You won't get away with this!" Stella told him, hating how corny the line sounded.

The man just laughed. "Wanna bet, sweetheart?" He stared at her again. "Hmm, where to start? Ah, I know *just* the place," he said quietly as he started to advance on her.

TBC


	12. Hope

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The Nurse's mind was made up before she had even entered Boyd's cell. It had been made up the moment she saw Christian cutting off the policeman's fingers; even before then, when he had been flogged mercilessly. She was used to the torture routine with Evans' minions, but this had been different for her; it was personal. There was something about Boyd that made her ashamed of ever allowing herself to be drawn into such a situation. He wasn't like any of the other victims she had ever had to tend. Yes, he screamed and shouted out in pain, like anybody would, but in some many other ways, he was as strong as an ox, his endurance beyond anything she had ever seen, especially in a man of his age. The Nurse could tell that even Christian, hard-bitten as he was, was developing a growing, grudging respect for the policeman. But he was the only one. Perry was too stupid to understand most things, even the simplest of orders, and Jensen... She shuddered. That man was bordering on being completely psychotic. She didn't have to deal with Evans, luckily, but he struck her as someone who didn't like to get his hands dirty, and then there were The Boss. Always in shadow, The Boss used a device to alter their voice; The Nurse didn't even know if it was a man or a woman; she didn't even know their name. They were just called 'The Boss'. In fact, there was only one thing she did know about The Boss, and that was they made her skin crawl. She had seen how Christian reacted around The Boss; the man didn't even show fear around Evans, but when The Boss was about, it was completely different story. Christian's face would pale and it looked as though he was scared for his life, and in The Nurse's opinion, The Boss was even more dangerous and deadly than Evans was, but whether the gangster had noticed this or not remained to be seen. He was canny, no doubt about that, and intelligent, but The Nurse had noticed Evans was starting to get too cocky. He had bought, bribed or threatened too many people in too many high-powered positions to care about any consequences that came his way now, and The Nurse knew that was a stupid stance for him to take. The stunt with Boyd proved that. Evans' victims before Boyd had always been small time crooks or snitches, who probably deserved their treatment, on some level. But none of them had ever really been missed properly.

Then came Tom Brent. He had worked for Evans' for a few years doing odd jobs, a bit of chauffeuring, a bit of torturing, a bit of grocery shopping...anything the man needed. But even The Nurse could see he was trouble. He was silent so much of the time, and his eyes flitted everywhere, missing nothing. On more than one occasion, she had caught him scribbling notes or even videoing things he shouldn't have been recording. The Nurse didn't have the guts to go to Evans, or even Christian, and report Brent, and he knew that; because if she had said anything, she would have burned along with the others. Self-preservation came first.

But Brent was too clever for his own good. He spent too long with the police, and thanks to Evans' well placed source in the force, the gangster knew exactly what Brent had told them, what deals he had cut, and what he was holding back. Then Brent had made the biggest mistake of his life; he tried to blackmail Evans. But the gangster was smarter. He had paid out the first few months, let Brent grow complacent, and then he had him killed. For some reason, Brent's death was like a small stone that started an avalanche. Boyd had gotten his hands on the case and was like the proverbial bulldog that had its teeth into something and refused to let go. He started to make hard inquiries, threatened the subjects physically rather than cutting deals, and generally had Evans' lower minions running scared. People started talking, things started to fall apart, and even Evans' source couldn't completely control the investigation, though they did manage to minimise the damage by making sure that case notes were *accidentally* lost, that evidence and forensics were *accidentally* damaged or contaminated. Even so, Boyd ended up getting closer to the truth than anyone else had. Threats on his life were blatantly ignored, the policeman's silence and continued determination to bring the perpetrators to justice like the two-fingered salute to Evans. So the gangster resorted to the only solution he had left; he kidnapped Boyd.

Even now, after only a week in the policeman's company, The Nurse couldn't say why she suddenly felt the need to risk her life to save him, only that she did. It was a compelling feeling, one that she couldn't ignore, though she had tried. Perhaps it really was his strength, perhaps it was his dark eyes and his handsome face... The Nurse gulped. She knew the reason, she had known from the first time she had seen him, but she didn't want to voice the thought, even in the silent vaults of her own mind. Giving the notion body would only make it real. But she *did* know why she wanted to save him, why she was willing to die trying.

It was simple, really, for her. She drugged the guards' drinks, waited until they had passed out, then unlocked Boyd's cell door. She saw him flinch at the noise, no doubt expecting another round of torture, but then she saw his expression change as she walked into the room.

"Who's there?" he asked, or at least she thought that was what he said. The damage to his mouth and throat was quite probably irreversible; The Nurse doubted he'd ever be able to speak properly ever again. "Who's there?"

"Sshh, don't make any sound. I'm getting you out of here." Her voice shook as she spoke, but she ignored it, hoping Boyd was too drugged up to notice the nervousness. She didn't want him panicking any more than he already was.

Boyd didn't know the voice, knew the footsteps. The Nurse. But why? Why was she helping him? Unless it was another trick. "Trick," he managed to say.

The Nurse looked at him for a moment, a tear slipping down her cheek. "No, this isn't a trick. I'm going to get you out of here," she repeated. "Can you stand?"

"Just."

As Boyd allowed himself to be hauled to his feet, The Nurse looked at her watch. "We don't have much time. I know this is hard for you, but you've got to move fast. Okay?"

"Go."

They moved down the hallways as quickly as they could, The Nurse's eyes darting everywhere. It was a hell of a risk, a gamble she wasn't sure would pay off, but she had to try. Finally they reached the back door, and setting her shoulder against it, she pushed.

"Damn thing sticks," The Nurse muttered, and if Boyd had even an ounce of his normal sense, he would have laughed at the absurdity of the comment...if he was capable. But he said nothing, just waited until the first icy breath of fresh air hit him. "It's raining."

"So?"

"It's cold. Starting to sleet" The Nurse suddenly wondered if the whole thing was a bad idea. "You could die out there."

"Gonna...die...here. Diff...ence?" Boyd ground out.

"Very true." She paused. "I can't come with you. I'll stay here, delay them as long as I can."

"Will...kill...you."

She looked at him. "You?"

"Them."

"I know."

Using a small amount of his reserve strength, Boyd steeled himself and turned to look at the face of The Nurse. He was both glad and disappointed when he didn't recognise her at all. She was only young, but looked far older. He could only imagine the things she had seen or been made to do, and he wondered what hold Evans' had over her.

"Why?" he asked quietly.

The Nurse started to cry. "Because...you remind me...of my dad." She swallowed. "Now go. You don't have a lot of time. You might not even make it. I really don't think you'll get far walking, but...I think you should try."

"Will," Boyd said, knowing his strength was already leaving him and that before he'd gone even fifty metres, he'd be crawling. "Thank...you."

"I don't deserve your thanks," The Nurse replied. "I should have acted sooner, should never have let it happen in the first place. Now don't waste any more time. Go!"

Boyd nodded once, then turned and started to walk. He didn't look back.

TBC


	13. Shock

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It was, Eve reflected much later, a fortuitous twist of fate that made her and Grace arrive at the office the same time that morning. Eve had spent a restless night's sleep, her thoughts consumed with the young Frenchwoman in the cell and her sharp comment right before they incarcerated her.

*"Why do I keep seeing blood on your hands?" Stella asked.

"That's not what we're discussing," she replied, her voice trembling.*

Blood on her hands. Even though she scrubbed them well after each time, Eve always felt her hands were covered with blood, and as she lay staring at the dark ceiling the night before, the pathologist came to the horrifying conclusion that Stella thought she was somehow involved in Boyd's disappearance. If that was true, and Eve decided it must be, that also meant Stella thought Boyd was being treated roughly, even tortured, and that idea made the scientist sick to her stomach. Like everyone else within the Met and their immediate circles of contact, she had heard stories of Evans' deeds, none of which were for the faint of heart. And then, when Eve had acquainted herself with the details of Tom Brent's murder, her opinion of the gangster dropped even further, a feat she didn't think was possible.

That morning, after sleeping less than half an hour, Eve sat in her kitchen nursing her fourth cup of coffee, her hands shaking from too much caffeine in a short time, her face paler than normal, her eyes bloodshot. She didn't know how many coffees she'd had; guilt was eating away at her soul, the torment filling her more than a meal would, and by the time she was ready for work, Eve had made a firm decision about what she was going to do, regardless of the consequences. She needed to come clean to someone and she knew just the person.

As luck would have it, that person entered the building the same time as Eve, but the atmosphere between the two of them was less than cordial for starting a conversation as sensitive as the one Eve had in mind. Grace looked as bad at the pathologist felt and neither spoke a word until they were actually in the office. Spencer still hadn't arrive, and once Grace was certain he was absent, she straightened her shoulders and turned to Eve.

The pathologist had seen the movement, knew what it meant, and beat Grace to the punchline. "I need to talk to you."

The profiler had already opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again while Eve was talking. Then she said, "Okay. My office. Tea? You look like you've had too much coffee already."

Despite everything, Eve was amused. Everyone always assumed Boyd was the blunt one, but if people listened closely, they would notice that Grace was equally as candid, just in a quieter way.

Once they were seated in Grace's office – either side of the desk, not the couch, which Eve took notice of – the profiler spoke up again. "So."

Eve took a deep breath and decided to just take the plunge. "You know background, don't you? About the drugs?"

Grace nodded. "Yes."

"I also used to self-harm, but I stopped when I found the hard drugs," Eve continued, her tone monotonous, her eyes not downcast, but not looking at the profiler either. "Lately I've had a really bad craving for the drugs. My nicotine addiction just isn't cutting it...." She smiled ruefully. "Perhaps not the best choice of words there."

"You've started self-harming again," Grace said, and Eve nodded. "Which explains the blood on your hands."

Again, the pathologist inclined her head. "I think...I think Stella thought that because of the blood, I was involved with...whatever has happened to Boyd."

"You do realise this could be played both ways, don't you?"

Another nod. "It either means I'm doing it because I feel guilty, or because I worried everyone thinks I'm guilty. No win situation."

"It wasn't for Stella, either," Grace said heavily.

"Then why did you have her locked up?"

The question hung in the air, balancing like the blade on the headsman's block, the words twice as deadly. "Because something had to be done," Grace replied eventually. "We do have a leak, and more than likely it's someone on this time. I don't *want* to believe it's any of us, but by locking Stella away, we might be able to eliminate her from this...enquiry."

Eve stared hard at the profiler. "Which would then leave you, me, and Spence. I don't like those eyes."

"For God's sake, Eve, I don't like them either, but what else can we do? Bring in a stranger to investigate us all? Can you imagine the witch hunt that would be?"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," the pathologist replied, holding her hands up. "It's just...all of this, you know?"

"I do."

"Boyd as well. He's such a...."

"The worst."

"Yet when he's not here...."

"I know."

Eve smiled slightly. "What about Stella?"

Grace sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Let's take her breakfast and we'll see after that."

"I'll get some coffee on."

As they were bustling around trying to scrape together some sort of food – day old doughnuts appeared from a desk drawer, and Grace got some chocolate from the vending machine outside – Spencer appeared.

"What's going on?" he asked wearily.

"You look like hell, Spence," Grace said.

He smiled. "And you both look fine as usual."

"Liar," Eve told him, and for a single moment, everything was how it should be; it was all normal.

But the moment was soon broken, and Grace answered Spencer's question. "We're taking breakfast to Stella."

He looked like he was going to grumble for a minute, but then he just shrugged. "Okay."

"No arguments?" Eve asked, surprised.

"Not today," he replied shaking his head. "Actually, I was thinking...I know what I said before, and I know Stella's past record, but this?" Spencer shook his head again. "I just can't believe it."

Grace sighed, the throbbing in her right temple starting up again. "None of us want to believe that it's someone on this team, Spence, but we've got to start somewhere."

"You're going to lock each of us in a cell?" he asked.

"If that's what it takes, yes," Grace said waspishly. "Come on, Eve."

It was a twist of fate that meant Eve and Grace arrived at the same time that morning, but even more fortunate that Spencer was there as well. If he hadn't been, Eve wasn't quite sure what she and Grace would have done after they had opened the cell door. She did, however, *know* the first thing they did; they both dropped whatever they were holding and clapped their hands to their mouths, their eyes widening beyond all natural capability, their faces turning paler than white. The impulse to scream was strong and finally, Eve did.

Spencer heard the noise and sprinted towards the cells, skidding to a halt before he ran into Grace. "What is...?" He trailed off in horror as he looked into the cell.

Stella lay naked on the floor, looking as though she was on a large red blanket, a pool of blood beneath her head, framing it like a halo. Her face was battered beyond almost all recognition; the right side of her face was a map of bruises and cuts, and swollen to twice its size, while her left was only marginally better. On the right hand side of her mouth, a long cut ran from the corner of her lips to her cheek; it looked as thought someone had tried to cut open her face. Her neck bore ligature marks, thin slivers of blood marking the places where someone had pierced the skin. Her left arm was broken, the bone sticking out of the skin near the elbow, and her right arm bore defensive slash marks on the forearm. Her breasts had also been slashed and blood covered her chest all the way down to her navel. Her legs were spread wide and seemed to be at impossible angles. There was only one explanation; her hips had been dislocated. Blood covered her inner thighs, though her injuries seemed to grow less towards her toes, not that the information was any comfort to anyone.

"Oh...my...God," Grace stammered, trying to hold onto her breakfast. Eve wasn't so lucky; she turned and vomited against the wall.

"Only someone with access could have done this," Spencer said in a shaky voice, not able to take his eyes off the prone figure of his colleague. He just realised that the blanket wasn't a blanket at all; Stella was lying in her own blood.

Then Grace jerked forwards, her eyes widening even more. "Oh my God, she's *alive*."

Eve was sat on the floor and she looked up in shock. "What?"

"She's alive. Spence, phone an ambulance!" Grace said urgently. When he didn't move, she clapped   
her hand together loudly. *"Now!"*

Spencer jumped. "Right. Ambulance. Now. Got it." He whipped his phone out and quickly dialled a number.

Grace didn't hear what he was saying; she was too busy trying to help Eve stabilise Stella's condition. The young Frenchwoman was cold from spending the night naked on the cell floor, as well as with shock from her ordeal.

"Who could have done this to her?" Eve asked in a hushed voice, but Grace wasn't listening; she was too busy thinking about the blood on the pathologist's hands.

She shook her head slightly. Eve simply wasn't capable of this kind of savage behaviour; none of them were. "Ambulance will be here in five minutes," Spencer told them. "They've asked us to do whatever we can for Stella, though they said if she's survived a few hours in...in this...condition...." He swallowed. "They think she will survive a little longer until they get here, but if we can do something...."

"There's very little we can do," Grace replied. "We can cover her up, but that won't keep her very warm while she's lying on the cold floor."

"And we can't pic-" Spencer trailed off. "Oh, Christ!" He turned and vomited next to the spot where Eve had.

The pathologist looked surprised. "What? What is it?"

"I...I think I know...where some...most...of the...blood came from," Spencer ground out.

"Where?" Grace asked, going cold.

Spencer didn't answer, just pointed in the general direction of Stella's midsection. Grace and Eve looked down but couldn't see an injury that could cause so much blood loss. But it soon became apparent....

"Eve," Grace said, her voice unsteady, "Can you...?"

The pathologist was already moving, her face showing the distaste for the job she was doing. After a moment, she looked up, clearly nauseous. "I would say that...she has been raped...but...." Eve swallowed the bile back down. "The damage...." She took a deep breath. "Stella was either raped brutally many times, or a sharp object has been used on her."

Any further discussion was interrupted by the timely arrival of the paramedics, one of whom vomited upon seeing Stella. The other paled, but gritted his teeth together and went about his work.

"As soon as she's stable, the hospital will let you know," he said.

Grace nodded, her arms wrapped about herself. "Thank you. We will need...a list of her injuries...please."

The paramedic nodded. "Of course. Just ask the doctor on duty."

When the paramedics left with Stella, the other three were simply rooted to the spots they were on. Their eyes were drawn to mass of red on the floor, but soon they began to look around the room and what they saw disgusted them almost as much as Stella's mutilation had. Arcs of blood spray decorated the walls, making such a pattern that anyone who wasn't familiar with the situation would think that the room had been decorated crimson.

"We need to work harder," Spencer declared. "We need to find whoever did...this." He was trembling as he spoke.

"Then let's get started," Grace said quietly. "We can't do any more standing around here. Seal the room off, get an impartial team in." She looked at Eve. "That isn't a slight on you; I just don't think it's good for team moral to ask you collect the forensics in this case."

Spencer nodded. "I agree."

"Now, let us get out of here." Grace took one look at the room again before shivering and following the others out.

TBC


	14. Clues

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The mood in the office could be described as desolate at best, hopeless at worst. Everyone sat around trying to work, but their thoughts were all on Stella. At lunch time, Grace had phoned the hospital and talked to the doctor who had treated the young DC. The prognosis was not good.

*"She's in a coma," he had said. "And the chances of her coming out of it are not good."

"Were her injuries so severe?" Grace had asked, feeling sick to her stomach.

"Severe enough," the doctor had replied. "But I think the reason for a continued coma would be more psychological. I'm sure you can understand."

Having told him exactly who she was, Grace definitely understood that. "Thank you," was all she had said before putting the phone down.

Stella's consciousness had shut down, protecting herself from the horrors she'd had inflicted on her, and if by a miracle she ever did recover, she would never be the same again. As a psychologist, Grace understood that all too well. The young DC was in a secure room in the hospital with a twenty four hour guard. The profiler didn't bother saying how pointless that was; if someone could get to her inside the Met building, and inside the CCHQ, then they could get to her in hospital.

Spencer had taken harder than Eve, for some reason. "So there's no chance she'll recover?" he had asked.

"There's always a chance, Spence, but it's a slim one."

Eve had shaken her head, then dragged a hand wearily over her face. "I'll chase the forensics team. They're bound to have something by now."*

That had been an hour ago. Only an hour. Grace shook her head. Time was crawling by as such a slow pace she thought it would soon start going backwards. Spencer had gone off in search of the video from the car park from the day of Boyd's disappearance again, and by the look on his face, he wasn't coming back until he had found it. Grace's contribution was looking at the tape from the camera in Stella's cell, which would contain all of the grisly scenes from the previous night. She couldn't ask anyone else to do it, but she was now finding it difficult to do herself. She had the tape at the point where Stella was in the cell alone, but couldn't bring herself to play any more of it.

She was just about to start the horrendous task when Spencer burst in, wearing a grim smile of satisfaction and holding up a video tape. "I found it. The morons upstairs had it filed under the wrong date."

Grace could only stare at him. Boyd had been missing for eight days now, and while it wasn't so long, to her it felt like an eternity, and now she was about to see his face again. The thought made her almost crumble, but instead she nodded.

"Great job, Spence," Grace said, thinking quickly. "Right, I've got an idea." Gesturing Spencer to sit down, she phoned Eve. "Can you come in?... Yes, now, please... You have? That's great... No, no, leave it there... I'll explain in a minute."

Eve appeared five minutes later, also looking quite pleased with herself. "I've just...."

Grace held her hand up. "In a minute." She took a deep breath. "Right, for now, we *have* to be able to trust each other, at least until we get a lead on something, so this is what we're going to do. We're *all* going to watch the video from last night, from Stella's cell, then we're *all* going to watch the tape from the night of Boyd's kidnapping, then we'll *all* go to the lab and Eve can tell us her news, showing us again if necessary just for confirmation. Alright?" Eve and Spencer looked at each other uneasily and Grace correctly interpreted their expressions. "I know it's a horrible task, but we don't have to watch the whole thing, just enough to be able to identify Stella's attacker."

Eve nodded first. "Alright, let's get it over with."

The three of them moved until they could all see the TV, then Grace pressed play. Stella was sat on the bunk, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms around her legs, her express forlorn and scared. She seemed to be lost in thought most of the time, shuddering occasionally, then all of a sudden there was a noise like a gunshot and Stella jumped clean off the cot, staring blankly at the man who had just entered, his back to the camera.

*"You're a pretty little thing, ain't ya?" he drawled.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"Doesn't matter. All that matters is we won't be disturbed."*

As he shut the door behind him, they heard the bolt on the outside the cell hit home. "Oh my God, there were two of them," Grace murmured, her hand going to her mouth.

*"If you want to scream, pretty, feel free," the man said with a sick grin. "No one can hear you."*

He delved into his jacket and pulled something out, but they couldn't see what it was. Then Eve's eyes widened. "Shit, that is *some* knife."

Spencer peered more closely at the video. "If he used that on Stella, she's lucky to be alive."

*"Now you and me are gonna have a little fun."

"You won't get away with this!" Stella told him.

The man just laughed. "Wanna bet, sweetheart?" He paused. "Hmm, where to start? Ah, I know just the place," he said quietly as he started to advance on her.*

They all turned their heads as the man began attacking Stella, glancing back to the screen occasionally to see if he had shown his face, but they could not shut their ears, and the sounds would haunt them until they died. After almost an hour of brutality against Stella, the man suddenly turned, looked up at the camera, and grinned deliberately, his knife poised below her navel, leaving no room for error over what he was about to do. Grace paused the video, her hand shaking as she held the remote.

"Can that image be run through the computer?" she asked quietly.

Spencer nodded. "I'll do it now."

"Use my computer, Spence," Grace said. He nodded again in understanding and got to work. "When you've got that started, we'll look at the other tape."

Ten minutes later, they were all sat holding their breath as they saw four men approach Boyd in the car park. They could tell by his stance that he wasn't scared, just being cautious, and although they couldn't hear what was being said, they knew he would be trying to buy time until someone else came out. But the kidnappers seemed to be in a hurry. One of them, who, from a distance, looked similar to the man who had attacked Stella, pulled a gun and shot Boyd in the head.

"Oh!" Grace cried, covering her whole face with her hands.

Spencer gripped her forearm. "He'll be okay, Grace. If he was dead, we would have found a body by now. The bullet probably glanced off his temple. He'll be sore, but alive. He'll be okay," he repeated.

Eve had paused the tape and was looking closely at the footage. "I think we can get two clear IDs off this," she said, tapping the screen. "Especially the shooter. Possible ID on the third, no chance on the fourth." She put her face even closer to the image. "In fact, I wouldn't even like to say whether that was a man or a woman."

"It doesn't matter," Grace replied, her voice weak. "We'll find out who they are. Alright, Spence, put that shot into the computer and while it's working its magic, we'll go and look at what Eve's got for us."

There was an element of surrealism as they all trooped to the lab. For days – weeks, even – they had struggled, fighting tooth and nail, for information about Evans and his shady dealings, and Boyd's disappearance, for for every step forward, they made at least three back. Evidence disappeared or became contaminated, or simply couldn't be found. Witnesses changing their statements, restrictions by the Commissioner, and now, all of sudden, they were racing forward at a spring, and Grace found herself scared of what they would find at the end of the road.

"Right, I checked Boyd's key-card for fingerprints and came up with three sets, which I then ran through the computer this morning," Eve started once they were all in the lab.

"And you've got results back already," Grace stated, no longer surprised by anything.

The pathologist nodded. "Stella's prints are *not* on Boyd's card," she said quietly.

Grace paled and sat heavily on the nearest stool. "Oh my God. What have I done?"

Spencer knelt beside her and covered her hands with his. "You couldn't have known, Grace," he told her. "I would have made the same call you did, and so would Boyd."

"Neither are Spencer's prints on the car," Eve continued.

The DI turned sharply. "What?"

"Do you *want* them to be on their, Spence?" Eve asked.

"Well...no, of course not. I just, you know, assumed they would be. I could have sworn I'd picked it up at one time or another."

"Maybe you did, but you didn't leave a print."

"Who do the other sets belong to?" Grace asked, already knowing the answer.

"Me, you and Boyd," Eve replied without preamble.

The silence was shattered by the phone ringing and Spencer, who was closest, answered it. "Hello?" He listened for a moment, then handed the receiver to Eve. "It's for you."

"Dr Lockhart... Yes... Okay, hang on a minute." She covered the mouthpiece. "It's the forensics team who looked at the cell. I'm putting it on speaker phone." She pressed a button and put the receiver down. "Okay, go ahead."

*"Well, we don't need to talk about the injuries or the blood patterns, do we?"* a man's voice asked.

Eve shook her head. "No, we don't."

*"Okay, we've got fingerprints from the cell and eliminating those from your team, that leaves us with three. Can you tell us who the last people were who stayed in the cell?"* the technician asked.

"One will be the cleaner," Grace said, then, interpreting the silence correctly, added, "Don't ask. Her name will be on the Met's staff list, it shouldn't be too hard to find."

*"Okay, so that leaves us two."*

Spencer stared into space for a moment, then clicked his fingers. "Of course. The last guy we had in there was *Evans.*"

*"Who?"*

"Michael Evans, notorious gangster masquerading as a businessman," Grace stated dryly.

*"I've heard of him. Okay, let me run that."* Silence. *"Yep. One set of prints belong to Evans."*

"Why didn't you run them through the database?" Eve asked suddenly.

*"Because this was a priority case, and I mean someone wanted this stuff yesterday. We figured if you already had names to go with the prints, it would make both our jobs easier,"* the man said.

"And the third set of prints?" Spencer asked.

*"Going through the system now, could tak...."* There was a beeping noise. *"Hot damn, it's got a match! A guy by the name of Carl Jensen, seems to have ties with Evans. Maybe that's why the computer picked it up so fast."*

As Spencer wrote the name down, Eve asked, “Did you check the security system for the offices? DI Jordan's card should have been logged last, right after mine and Dr Foley's. The one previous to mine should give us an idea who we're looking for."

*"There was just one key-card logged before yours this morning, Dr Lockhart."*

Everyone looked at each other. "Whose?" Eve asked.

*"DSI Peter Boyd."*

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The forensics team had more information, but Grace had told them it could wait and ended the phone call. It was just too much information to take in. Someone had taken Boyd's key-card from the lab in order to use it to get back in to get to Stella, but *who*? They had answers, yes, but more questions to go with them.

"Now what?" Spencer asked.

"Now we get a record for Carl Jensen and see if any other names come up often in conjunction with his," Grace replied.

Eve looked at her. "You're thinking that the other men who kidnapped Boyd with Jensen have worked with him before."

"I think it's a good possibility and one we should look at first. If nothing comes of it, at least we tried."

"That's assuming Jensen is one of the men who kidnapped Boyd," Spencer pointed out.

"Let's see what the computer has come up with, shall we?" Grace suggested. "And if it hasn't finished, start looking at the criminal records."

"What about me?" Eve asked.

"You can help us," the profiler replied.

Late in the afternoon, the computer came back with a facial match for two of the men in the car park footage, including the shooter. "Carl Jensen," Spencer stated. "Same man who attacked Stella. And the one next to him is Christian Drayfus. According to the records, those two have quite a history together. I could count the amount of times they've been pulled in separately on one hand."

"Is Jensen the leader?" Grace asked curiously.

"I would say not," Spencer replied. "Not looking at the records, but you know I can't say for certain."

Grace just nodded. "Hmm."

"There was a third name attached to those two on several occasions as well," Spencer continued. "An Anthony Perry. And from the looks of his photo, I'd say there was a good chance he's the third man in the kidnapping video."

"And the fourth?" Eve asked.

Spencer shook his head. "Nothing. The picture of him – or her – in the tape is as black as night. Can't see a damn thing."

"Anything else?" Grace asked.

Spencer nodded. "Jensen, Drayfus and Perry all have ties to Evans."

Eve whistled. "But we can't nail him on association, can we?"

"No, we can't," Grace replied before the DI could.

"No, we can't," Spencer agreed. "*But* I may have something we can use. On several occasions, Jensen, Drayfus and Perry have all said they were working at a warehouse. I checked it out and it's owned by Evans. I want to check it out."

"You think Boyd might be there?" Eve asked uncertainly.

Spencer shrugged. "It seems like a good place to start, that's all."

"Call SO19, get them prepared just in case you need them," Grace said finally. "And take at least half a dozen other officers with you. We don't need anything else going wrong."

Spencer nodded and left Grace's office. "What are we going to do?" Eve asked.

The profiler laughed bitterly. "I don't know any more. I just don't know."

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A few hours later, the rain well set in for the night, slashing silver against the black, Spencer set out for the warehouse with a dozen officers and an SO19 team in tow. He didn't know what he was expecting to find, if anything, but he knew anything was better than sitting around the office simply waiting. When they arrived, the building looked deserted and Spencer started to have second thoughts.

"What now, sir?" a junior officer asked.

Spencer thought for a moment. "SO19 goes in first. If it's safe, we'll go in and check the place over. Just make sure not to disturb any forensics, understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Twenty minutes later, the SO19 commander came out, his face grim. "You might want to sift the wheat from the shaft before you send anyone in there, sir," he said bluntly. "There's a bloody mess in one of the rooms just off the main hall, and I mean literally. And we've got a dead body."

Spencer felt cold. "Call an ambulance. I'm going on. Tell the others to wait!"

Without hesitating for a reply, the DI ran into the building, his gun drawn out of habit. The dead body was easy to spot; a young woman had been shot several times, her body propped up against the wall. Spencer didn't know her, but that didn't stop him from feeling sorry about her fate. The room the SO19 commander had mentioned wasn't hard to miss either; first of all, there was a putrid smell about it. Burning flesh, rotting bodies, old blood, cigarette smoke... Spencer had to take a few paces back to fill his lungs with fresh air before walking in.

Instinctively he knew this was where Boyd had been kept and, from the looks of things, severely tortured. Blood splattered the walls and the ceiling, the floor so saturated it was almost black. Pieces of dried flesh still clung in places, though it was obvious someone had tried to clean up. But there was no Boyd.

Staggering outside, Spencer took several lungfuls of air before shouting a PC to him. "No one goes in until forensics get here, understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

He pulled his phone out and dialled a number. "I need a forensics team right now," he said, giving them the address. "And bring a copy of fingerprints for Michael Evans, Carl Jensen, Christian Drayfus and Anthony Perry for on site confirmation, or not, as the case may be."

Half an hour later, Spencer stood in the pouring rain wishing for a cigarette, trying to take everything in. Forensics had recovered a knife and a gun, both covered in fingerprints; Drayfus' on the knife, Evans' on the gun. At last they had some solid evidence against the bastard, because his were the *only* prints on the gun. It all suddenly seemed like such a tidy case; all that was left was to find Evans and his minions...and Boyd.

Suddenly Spencer walked off, got into his car, and started to drive, ignoring the strange looks the other officers gave him. He hadn't gone very far when something caught his eye, and screeching to a halt, he sat for a moment and stared. Something was moving at the side of the road, something vaguely...human? Swearing, Spencer fell out of his car and started to run towards the figure, his feet pounding the pavement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this chapter is set just before the beginning of the prologue.


	15. Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter follows straight on from the last one, and the prologue goes between. The last word of the prologue is the first word of this chapter.

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"Verraden."

Spencer stared down at the form he was holding, barely recognisable as a human being, let alone as Boyd. "What?" he asked, not understanding the word.

"Verr...ad...en," Boyd repeated weakly, before passing out.

Spencer gentled cradled his head as he sat on the pavement, trying to will his brain to realise that he had, in fact, just found Boyd. It had all seemed so impossible, but now Spencer couldn't remember why it had been so difficult, not that any of it mattered. They had good evidence to charge Evans with murder, Jensen with attempted manslaughter, and Drayfus and Perry with kidnapping. And now, he had found Boyd.

He had found Boyd.

The shock hit Spencer like a freight train at high speed and he began to tremble. He didn't think he had missed his boss; in a way, he had actually been glad to get rid of him, but now, holding his unconscious body against him, Spencer realised that without Boyd, there was nothing. Grace was going to have a fit when she saw him.

Grace.

Without really knowing why he had reached that decision, he shook Boyd gently. "Come on, boss, we've got to move." Struggling with the dead weight of the DSI, Spencer hauled him to his feet, the movement causing Boyd to grunt with pain, bringing him to semi-consciousness, and he staggered along, half dragged by Spencer. With a little effort, the DI got him into the back seat of his car, checked the area quickly, then climbed into the driver's side and sped off. He didn't know why he had done that and not called an ambulance, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

"Don't worry, Boyd, I'll get you to hospital."

"No."

It wasn't so much the dismissal of the idea that surprised Spencer, it was hearing Boyd talk that made him almost crash the car. "Sir, I think...."

"Grace."

That didn't surprise the DI either. It had actually been his intention to take Boyd to Grace's house rather than the hospital, but it was his responsibility to at least suggest medical treatment to Boyd. His reason for taking Boyd to Grace instead of a hospital was actually quite simple; from a quick glance at his injuries, Spencer reckoned his boss had very little time to live. The fact he was actually still alive was a minor miracle in itself, and the DI reasoned that Boyd's last moments should be spent with the one person who cared about him the most. Pulling his phone from his pocket, Spencer dialled the profiler's number and then juggled driving while holding a conversation, hoping no overeager traffic cop pulled him over.

*"Hello?"*

"Grace, it's Spence. I've found him."

There was a long silence. *"Oh my God,"* Grace replied eventually.

He could hear the profiler's voice shaking, could imagine she had just dropped into a chair if she wasn't already sitting down. "He's...he's alive," Spencer told her.

Grace caught DI's tone immediately. P"But? What is it, Spence?"*

"He's in a bad way. A really bad way. But he wants to come to you, and I think that might be better. I can have SO19 meet us at your place." He hesitated. "It's a smaller area to cover...."

*"I understand, Spence,"* Grace replied, also knowing there were more reasons that were better shared in private.

"Grace, I know...I know it's Boyd and everything, but you don't have to do this...."

*"I know it's going to be dangerous,"* Grace interrupted him. *"But there's a chance whoever did this to him will try to finish the job. And like you said, my house is easier to secure than a hospital. Bring him round, I'll get some warm salt water ready and my first aid kit."*

Spencer risked a glance over his shoulder at the form on the back seat. "I don't think that'll be enough," he said quietly.

Grace was silent for a moment. *"I understand,"* she repeated. *"I'll see you when you get here."*

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She was standing at the front door when he pulled up, her arms wrapped protectively around herself. He had seen her that way many times before; when Reese stabbed Boyd, when they investigated Tony Greene...the list was almost, unfortunately, endless. And he had seen many of her expressions over the years, but Spencer would never forget the look on Grace's face when he hauled Boyd out of his back seat; he thought she was going to faint on the spot, she went so pale.

But she didn't. Spencer knew Grace was stronger than that, or at least he hoped she was because if things went the way he thought they would, she would have to be. "Take him through to the living room," was all Grace said, her voice surprisingly steady.

Spencer didn't ask about the blood going everywhere; he figured she knew what she was doing and sure enough, an old quilt had been laid on the floor for Boyd to be placed on.

"Mind his back," Grace murmured, having seen the state of it as she followed Spencer.

He nodded. "I'll try, but I can't lie him on his front either. I think his lung has been punctured."

Once Boyd was on the floor, still unconscious, Grace grabbed Spencer's arm and dragged him into the kitchen. "He should be in a hospital!" she chastised him. "Why did you bring him here?! And don't bullshit me about it being easier to protect."

Spencer was quiet for a time. "You've seen his injuries, Grace," he said softly, eventually. "I don't think he'll last the night, to be honest, especially now he's been found. You know how the psychology works. Now Boyd's been found, he can relax and when that happens...."

"I know," she whispered. "I know. I just...I can't help thinking that if he went to hospital, they could save him."

"True, but after what he looks like he's been through, I think the last thing he wants is to be prodded and poked by doctors, pumped with more drugs and caused more pain."

"He has so many injuries," Grace stated. "I don't know where to start."

"Start with his back," Spencer suggested. "I'll hold him in a sitting position and once you've done that, I suggest taking a look at his hand."

"I didn't see...." She trailed off, her eyes wide. "Oh no. How many left?"

"Two," he replied grimly.

"I won't be able...I can't...sow them...the wounds...shut."

"Just bandage him up." Spencer looked around. "Have you got a good leather belt or something? It's for Boyd to bite in case he wakes up."

"My father's. Upstairs, second room on the left, bottom drawer of the unit just inside the door."

As Spencer went for the belt, Grace went to see Boyd. She knelt down beside him and let her fingers rest on his hair, his scalp being the only part of his body that didn't look damaged. He was still fully clothed, but she knew underneath he would be a mass of infected scabs and bloody open wounds, and that made her job so much harder. She wasn't very squeamish; in their job, you couldn't be. But Grace did not want Boyd to see her crying. He had been strong for so long; she needed him to be strong for a while longer so that they could catch whoever was responsible for all this. If it was Evans, fine, but Grace didn't think so. He may have given the orders, but someone else had carried the work out, of that she was certain. And then there was still the mysterious figure in the kidnapping tape to identify. Before leaving work, Grace and Eve realised that it couldn't possibly be Evans; the height and the build were all wrong. Evans was a large man, taller than the figure in the video and much broader across the shoulders. Small people can pretend to be tall, but tall people have great difficulties making people believe they are small.

Spencer came back in and Grace reminded herself to tell him the new bit of information before he left. "Spence, if you can push him up from his shoulders, and I'll try and pull him up with his jacket," she said. "Then if you can hold him up from the front while I clean and dress those wounds."

The DI nodded. "Okay."

Quietly, Grace got to work. Boyd was still unconscious, but she knew that wouldn't last long once he felt the agony that must have been searing through his body because of her ministrations. She could see the bone of his ribs and was tempted to ask Spencer for the belt so she could bite it. Instead, Grace just gritted her teeth together and continued with her task, padding up the large wound with an old T-shirt, as she didn't have enough first aid things to use.

"Alright, lie him down."

Spencer looked at her. "Grace."

Instantly she was by his side, looking at Boyd, and was met with the gaze from a single obsidian eye which was telling her such a story. Shaking, Grace raised her arm to his face, wanting to reassure herself he was really there, but she stopped short. However, Boyd held her stare and nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly, and Grace touched his cheek, a gesture of infinite gentleness, care and love.

"I need to do your hand," she said quietly. "I've dressed your back, and I can take a look at the rest of you, if you want." He shook his head. "I understand." And he knew she did. "But the hand...?" He nodded and Grace smiled. "This is going to hurt, so bite on this." She placed the belt in his mouth, then moved to get her first aid kit.

As Grace bandaged Boyd's remaining fingers as gently as she could, Spencer sat back and watched, but soon he came over to help, holding Boyd's arm in an iron-like grip to stop him from twitching in agony. Grace couldn't look at Boyd's face now; she had a feeling that the old leather belt he was clamping down on would be bitten almost all the way through by the time she finished, and if there were unshod tears in his single good eye, she would fall to pieces in an instant. Instead, she kept her gaze on his hand, trying to focus on her task, but it was difficult. Grace had only seen arms below the wrists, and they were bad enough; she couldn't even imagine what the rest of him was like, couldn't even begin to comprehend what he had been through, and though she knew it was cowardly of her, she didn't want to know.

"There," Grace said quietly. "All finished." She kept Boyd's hand resting on hers. "Boyd, I...."

He spat the belt out, grimacing in pain as he did so. "No." The word was spoken through shredded lips, cracked and caked with blood, the swollen and burnt tongue making it sound thick and almost unintelligible.

"I really think...," Grace tried again. She wasn't comfortable at all with the lack of proper medical care.

"No...hospital," Boyd told her as firmly as he could, but his voice lacked its former power, and Grace knew why. The bruising pattern on Boyd's neck clearly showed a boot print, and from the discolouration, someone had stomped down quite hard. She was surprised his windpipe hadn't been crushed, but from the way he was croaking, it sounded as though it was suffering immensely, along with his voice box.

"Leave it," Spencer said quietly. "Let him rest, try again tomorrow. If he's still refusing to go, I'll drag the police surgeon around." Both him and Grace knew he was lying; he had spoken with such deliberateness that it was to make Boyd think everything was okay when it clearly wasn't.

"No," Boyd repeated. It seemed to be the only word he manage reasonably well. His staunch refusal to go to hospital surprised Grace, even though she thought she knew why, yet in Boyd's mind, it was the one thing he was clear on. He didn't know who he could trust, not anyone, except for Grace. And if Grace was the one who had betrayed him, then there was no sense in living anyway, so why waste the time of the good nurses and doctors at the hospital?

Spencer was going to protest some more, but Grace shook her head and touched Boyd's face again gently. "Alright. You'll stay here with me," she stated and waited for him to protest again. But instead he nodded and leant against her palm a little.

"I'd better get going," Spencer said, sensing he was no longer needed or wanted, really. "Do you want me to tell Eve the news?"

"Please," Grace replied, not looking at him.

"I'll let myself out."

Spencer's words fell on deaf ears, but he wasn't bothered. He knew they both needed this time together, alone, for Boyd to break down and allow himself to show weakness, and for Grace to reassure herself that he really was alive. Spencer had his own things to do, including checking how the investigation on the warehouse was going. There would be time to talk to Boyd and Grace tomorrow, fill them in on all the details that they wouldn't pay attention to now. And so Spencer slipped out quietly, locking the door and pocketing the key. He would sleep better knowing they were safe, or at least safer; he knew Grace wouldn't think about locking up. He would let them out in the morning.

TBC


	16. Truths

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The house was silent. The plan had failed, thanks to one rogue element, one unforeseen circumstance. And now...now it had all gone wrong. Now those who could have been useful later had been sacrificed in order to preserve the entire plan. Now, a more direct hand would have to be taken in affairs which should have been kept secret. Everything now stood to be lost, but sitting by and doing nothing was not an option. There was no time to plan carefully for every contingency; there was only time to act. It would be rash, it would be bold, but it was the only hope that the secret would stay hidden. The betrayer did not want to be discovered now, but Boyd had to be taken care of, by any means necessary.

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The house was silent, the only sounds those of kitchen machinery and breathing, one ragged and uneven, the other gentle and steady. Grace had heard Spencer leave, had heard him lock the door, and knew the reasons he had done it. She knew as well that she may be faced with her last chance to ever tell Boyd everything that had been on her mind from the first time she had met him all those years ago. Her feelings in that instant had been clear but as time went by, they changed, evolved, and were moulded into something else. What that something else was, Grace wasn't sure, though she was certain that with Boyd, she had crossed the whole spectrum of emotions, from deep love to vile hate.

Now, as she lay beside him on the floor, doing nothing but simply watching him, Grace realised nothing in the past mattered. Not their arguments or disagreements, not the good times or the laughter, not the changes in the team, her happiness or Boyd's. All that mattered was the present, here, lying on the floor with him, possibly in his last moments.

"Boyd," she murmured, her voice breaking. "I...I don't know what to say or do to help you, or even if you want my help. I just know...this past week for you must have been...well, I can't imagine. But for me, not knowing where you were or what was happening to you...Boyd...Peter, I can't go through that again. I don't want to be separated from you again...it would break my heart."

Grace closed her eyes, tears squeezing out from the corners. She didn't want him to see her anything but strong, but the pain she was feeling just from looking at his battered body...no, it was more than that. In his single good eye, Grace saw a broken spirit, and that caused her more agony than seeing Boyd's injuries.

"Don't...," Boyd croaked, startling Grace.

"Don't what?" she asked, opening her eyes to find him staring at her.

"Don't...want...you..." His face twisted in agony as he tried to swallow. "Go."

Grace paled. "You want me to go?" He shook his head. "You don't want to go?" He nodded, and she smiled. "Not ever?"

"Never."

She took his hand gently, trying to ignore the missing digits. His other arm was strapped to his chest, but Grace knew it was shattered, the chance of saving it remote; the chance of saving Boyd was remote, but she had suffered a shift in her thinking. She had never been particularly religious or spiritual, but now Grace realised that Boyd's body was beyond repair, she had started to think about his soul instead. If she could give him a measure of peace before he died, then at least it would make her feel more at ease. Intellectually, she knew it didn't matter what happened; everyone died eventually, and when they did, that was it, but clinging to the belief that she was helping in some way made Grace feel better.

"I think you were right," she said after a while. "We have been betrayed somehow." She held her hand up. "Don't talk, just nod or shake your head, alright?" He nodded. "Good."

Grace then went on to explain everything that had happened since he had been missing, including the attack on Stella, though she omitted most of the gory details, but judging from the look on Boyd's face, he knew. He squeezed her hand with surprising strength the entire time she was talking, and when she had finished, he tried to raise his hand to her face but failed. Sensing his intentions, Grace lowered her cheek and pressed his palm gently to it.

"Peter, you know...."

"I...am...dying...."

Grace wanted to shake her head and tell him he was wrong, that together, he would make it through. But she couldn't. Not with him looking at her like that, she couldn't lie. Tears falling down her face, she nodded slightly.

"No...crying," he told her. "Is...for...best."

With a small tug, Boyd pulled her back down to lie at his side. For a long time, they just stared at each other, words not necessary, their eyes talking for them. Eventually, Grace broke the silence, needing to give him something to hold onto, something to live for.

"We'll find whoever did this to you, I promise," she said quietly, his fingers grazing his cheek in a feather-like touch.

Boyd shook his head a little. "No. I...know...who...."

Grace stared at him. "You know who betrayed you?" He nodded gently. "Who?"

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Eve couldn't believe her ears when Spencer told her the news. It was early the following morning and she was already in the lab, checking over all of the evidence to make sure it was watertight. The last thing she wanted was for any of the bastards who had hurt Boyd to get away. Spencer explained that he wouldn't be in until later because he wanted to oversee the continued investigation of the warehouse, again to make sure Evans and his minions wouldn't slip through the net this time.

She triple checked everything, then checked it again. She stared so long at the computer screen, she honestly thought her eyes were turning square. And finally, just after lunchtime, Eve was convinced there was nothing more to do except wait. She debated about going to see Grace and Boyd, but Spencer had told her that it was best to leave them alone. He was going to check on them that afternoon, and he would then let her know if they were up to visitors. She read between the lines, though; it was doubtful Boyd was going to survive and from the injuries he had sustained, Eve didn't really want to see him. She wanted to remember him as he was; tall, proud and arrogant, loud and angry, running roughshod over everyone. But Eve felt Grace could use the company and although she knew Spencer had known the profiler longer, sometimes women wanted other women for company, and the pathologist felt this was one of those times.

She was just about to go for food when her phone rang. "Dr Lockhart... Grace! Oh my God, are you alright?... Yes, I'm alone... Yes, I'm listening... Right... Right... I understand but what... Alright, I'll see you as soon as possible." Eve put the phone down and stared into space, replaying the conversation in her head, trying to make sense of it.  
+  
"It's Grace... Yes, I'm fine. Are you alone?... Good, listen carefully because we don't have a lot of time, alright?... I need you to come here but don't tell anyone... Bring Stella's gun with you, make sure it's loaded... Do not tell anyone what you are doing, do you understand?... I can't explain over the phone, it isn't safe. I'll tell you when you get here. The front door is locked but I have a spare key in a crack in the wall on the left, about a foot from the ground. Come in and lock the door behind you. Okay?"*

What was going on? Why the secrecy? Unless.... Eve gasped. Unless Boyd knew who had betrayed him and was expecting them to turn up at Grace's house. Suddenly nothing else mattered except for getting to Grace and Boyd, and Eve started to run out of the lab when the phone rang again. She hesitated, but something made her stop and answer the call.

"Yes?"

*"Dr Lockhart? I called yesterday with the forensics from the attack on DC Goodman."*

"Yes, what else can I do for you?" Eve asked impatiently.

The technician didn't seem to mind her tone. *"I never got a chance to finish explaining our findings because our call was cut short."*

Eve suddenly went cold and she sat down. "What else was there to say?"

*"Just outside the cell were three recent vomit stains."*

"Yes, I know. If you check, you'll find they belong to me, DI Spencer Jordan, and a paramedic who came on the scene."

*"Mark Patterson, yes, we know. But there was an fourth, older stain underneath."*

"How old?" Eve asked.

*"I'd say twelve hours, more or less,"* he replied.

Which put it at the time Stella was being attacked, Eve reasoned. The second person, who bolted the door? But why would they be sick? Unless they didn't expect Jensen's attack to be so violent, which would show a small amount of conscience, something a good defence lawyer would go to town with.

Taking a deep breath, Eve asked the sixty four million dollar question. "Do you know who...well, who the vomit belonged to?"

There was a long pause, confirming Eve's fears. *"Yes, we do,"* the technician said eventually. *"We've identified it as belonging to...."*

TBC


	17. Confrontation

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The house was flooded with sunshine, Boyd insistent on having the curtains open, just as he was insistent on going upstairs to the bedroom. Grace knew the reasoning behind it; it had taken him long enough to explain to her, but she still thought it was stupidity on his part. After he had told her who had betrayed the time, Grace had stood up and walked away, leaving Boyd alone for a long time. She just couldn't believe what she had heard, preferring to think that Boyd's mind was deranged from his extended torture. But as soon as she thought that, Grace found herself examining why she had come to that conclusion and the answer simple; it was easier to think that than it was to accept that what Boyd was saying was the truth and really, what reason did he have to lie? When she had gone back into the living room, he looked like he was sleeping and for a heart-stopping moment, Grace thought he had died. But then his eye flickered open and the pain laid bare there for her to see made Grace's heart twist and break, and as she lay down next to him, she started to cry.

"I'm so sorry, Peter, I shouldn't have doubted you. But this is so difficult for me."

"Not...easy...for...me," he replied.

She put her finger ever so gently to his lips. "I know, and please, don't try to talk. You'll only do more damage to yourself."

Boyd laughed harshly, which turned into a wracking cough, blood seeping from the wound in his chest. Grace calmed him down and then went about setting a makeshift bed up for them on the living room floor. They had decided they would be safe there for the night, if indeed they were safe at all in the house; when the betrayer came for them, nowhere would be safe. And so Grace had covered them both with a blanket and slept close to Boyd without actually touching him.

Now they were upstairs, him lay on the bed, and it had been such a difficult task that she wasn't looking forward to helping him go back down when it was all over. Assuming, of course, that they survived.

But then Boyd looked at her with his single good eye and Grace remembered that nothing else was important except the moment. "Ready?" he asked.

She smiled wryly at him. "As we'll ever be." She still wanted to tell him everything, how she couldn't imagine her life without him in it and although he had told her to leave, she knew he didn't meant it. But words failed her and so she contented herself with simply lying next to him and holding his hand.

Time ticked by, minutes trailing into hours, until finally they heard the front door being opened. Fear and panic gripped them both but neither showed it. "He...is...here," Boyd ground out.

Grace nodded. "Are you sure...?"

"Yes."

They heard the person walking around downstairs, presumably looking for them, then footsteps sounded on the stairs, the steps measured and even, the sound of a cold, calculated killer. Boyd began to struggle and Grace helped him into a sitting position, facing the door, wishing there was another way they could have resolved this, but knowing their wasn't.

"Here you are," Spencer said as he walked into the room. "You weren't downstairs and I thought the worst had happened."

Boyd glared at him. "Bastard."

Spencer blinked in surprise. "Pardon?"

"You...did...this." Boyd gestured to his throat. "Resp...o...sible...for...all...."

For a long time, the two men simply stared at each other, while Grace sat motionless beside Boyd, holding her breath. Then, in an infinitely slow movement, Spencer reached behind his back and when his hand came into view again, he was holding a gun.

"How?" Spencer asked, the weapon never wavering from its target. "How did you know it was me?"

"Bas...tard!"

"Shut up, Boyd," Spencer snapped. "You know nothing. It wasn't supposed to be like this, so let's not make it any more difficult or unpleasant than it has to be."

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" Grace asked, her voice surprisingly calm. "So far we have nothing on you. You could have gotten away with all of this. You know Boyd isn't going to live, and Stella...well, unless she saw you, your secret is safe with her."

"I can't take that chance," he replied. "And it doesn't matter what you say or what I say. Any recording device you might be using can be easily found later and destroyed."

Tears suddenly welled up in Grace's eyes. "For God's sake, Spence, why? Why did you do this?"

He laughed. "Why do you think? Come on, Grace, you're the psychologist, you tell me."

"Power," she said bitterly. "I remember how you were when Mel got promoted before you, when, for the briefest of times, you both shared the same rank. You hated it. Felt you were being singled out, that your promotion to DI should have come a long time ago. And now, while you stay with the unit, you know you'll never get promoted to anything above a DI, not while Boyd was in charge, anyway. So you...." Her voice gave way as she tried to voice the atrocities Spencer had committed.

"So I had him kidnapped and tortured," the DI said coldly. "And let Evans take the blame. But Boyd was supposed to die. I never thought Kate would help him escape."

"Nurse," Boyd said.

Spencer nodded. "Kate Jackson, a young woman with a lot of problems." He shrugged. "She was easy to blackmail."

Boyd glared at him. "Bastard."

Spencer laughed. "Defiant until the end, Boyd, is that it? Or perhaps that's the only word you know how to say after my boys finished with you. Now, tell me how you knew it was me."

"Why?"

"I'm curious. And so that I know never to make the same mistake again."

"You won't live past today," Grace told him.

Spencer shrugged. "Perhaps. Now, are you going to tell me or should I just kill you both now?"

"Boot print...my neck...yours," Boyd said, looking down at Spencer's feet.

The DI frowned. "I'm not wearing those shoes."

"Yes...e...day."

Spencer was silent as he through back to the day before and his expression turned chagrined as he realised he had been wearing the same boots as when he tried to crush Boyd's throat. "Clever bastard," he growled.

"And...in cell...gloves...but...patch...skin...dark," Boyd ground out.

"Very clever indeed. Now let me ask you another question. If you knew all this, why isn't there anyone here to arrest me or protect you two?" Spencer asked scornfully.

"We don't know who we can trust," Grace replied. "If someone like you can be corrupted so easily, Spencer, then there is no hope for the rest of the police force."

He shrugged again. "It doesn't matter now. I wish I could say I was sorry it had to happen this way, but regrets are for the weak minded."

"Move and I'll blow your spine out."

Slowly Spencer turned his head to see Eve stood behind him, the wardrobe door open, a gun pointed steadily at his back. "I hope you know how to fire that," he said conversationally.

"Move and you'll find out," she replied with distaste lacing her voice.

"You're a fool. If you had wanted to stop me, you'd have shot me first and then spoken. Now you've lost the advantage.

Spencer spun suddenly, his gun arm coming straight around, but Eve was quicker. She fired without aiming properly, firing on instinct, and caught the DI in the shoulder. Without pausing, she fired again, this time grazing his hip, and then again. The third shot took him in the stomach, and the expression on his face was one of shock.

"Not...possible," he muttered, the gun clattering to the ground, his body quickly following it.

Eve suddenly paled and threw her gun away, leaning back against the closed wardrobe door and sinking to the floor. She couldn't take her eyes off Spencer's body, and as Grace watched her expression and her eyes change, she knew the pathologist would never be the same again.

Boyd suddenly rolled off the bed and Grace cried out in alarm, but he landed on his feet and walked unsteadily to where Spencer lay twitching on the floor, slowing dying. Boyd towered over him, still an impressive figure, despite his injuries, and stared into the DI's tumultuous eyes, watching as the light slowly faded from them. Then, just before the life was extinguished from him completely, Boyd raised his damaged hand, the remaining two digits standing proudly to attention in the two-fingered salute.

"Serves...you...fucking...right...bastard!" Boyd said in a low, gravelly voice. It was stupid, he knew, putting more strain on his voice and his body doing what he was doing, but he wanted Spencer to *know* before he died exactly what he thought of him. And from the final expression on the younger man's face, he did.

"It's over," Grace murmured as she came up beside him, one arm coming around his body, the other taking his hand.

Outwardly, Boyd nodded, but inwardly he was shaking his head. There were a couple of things left to do, and then it would be over for them all.

TBC


	18. Epilogue - Sleep

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Grace sat in her favourite armchair, her hands wrapped around a mug of very cold herbal tea, her eyes straight ahead, her gaze unfocussed. The previous day seemed like a blur, like it wasn't real, and she expected to wake up any moment. The police, alerted by a neighbour because of the sound of gunshots, burst into the house and began shouting at everyone. It was only a surprise appearance by the Commissioner that stopped the whole situation from spiralling completely out of hand. He still looked pale and thin after his suspected heart attack, but when he spoke, everyone else listened. Even now, Grace could still hear the words as though he was stood in the room speaking to her.

*"Everybody out," he ordered SO19.

The leader stared at him. "Pardon, sir?"

"Are you deaf or just stupid?" the Commissioner snapped. "I said out!" The leader's expression showed his disapproval but he went. The Commissioner stared at Spencer's body. "So it was him, was it?"

Grace was sat on the edge of the bed with Boyd and she looked up sharply. "You *knew*?" she asked, her tone accusing.

The Commissioner shook his head. "No. I knew there was a leak somewhere, and I know a lot of people thought it was me. But I knew that in order to get Boyd, it had to be someone close to you. And to me, DI Jordan was at the top of my list, which is why I made so many conditions upon him taking over the cold case unit. He had never disguised his ambition and I have heard talk before now that he thought he should be in charge, not you, Boyd. But I never dreamt he would go so far."

"You...heart..atta...." Boyd grimaced, unable to finish the word due to the strain on his voice box.

But the Commissioner understood him. "Turns out it was induced by some sort of drug. I think DI Jordan was getting ready to take over the Met, and if this plan of his hadn't failed, he would have been successful. And that, for me, is the most worrying part."

"What about Evans?" Grace asked, looking down at Eve. The pathologist was still in the same place, her back against the wardrobe door, her expression blank, and the worst part was Grace knew there was nothing she could do to help her.

"Oh, he has bought officers left, right and centre," the Commissioner admitted. "Even tried to buy me once, but I turned him down. But Jordan somehow managed to subvert those officers from under Evans' nose; they still worked for him, but reported to Jordan as well. In a way, it was a good thing. Evans had grown far too complacent and cocky; he was bound to make a huge mistake sooner or later, and when he did, the whole damn network would come crashing down. At least when there's someone in charge of the scum bags...." He shrugged. "You know how the game's supposed to be played, with rules, even if they are a little bent. But Jordan...well, he just trampled over everything, but with such stealth we didn't see him coming until it was too late. Peter, I am sorry this happened to you."

"Not...your...fault," Boyd ground out.

The Commissioner glanced at Eve, then back up at Grace. "Is Dr Lockhart going to be alright?"

"She just had to kill a colleague," Grace replied bitingly. "Another colleague is in a coma after a savage beating, and her boss was tortured for a weak. No, she'll never be 'alright' again. None of us will."

"I understand, and I know there is nothing I can do or say that will change a damn thing."

"You can tell us why you haven't put Boyd in an ambulance yet," Grace said suspiciously.

The Commissioner held her gaze. "Because he's dying. Because from the looks of him, he should be dead already, he's just too bloody stubborn to know it." Boyd grunted, which sounded like it was supposed to be a laugh, and tried to grin. "But if you want me to get the paramedics to take him first instead of Jordan...."

Grace shook her head. "No. Get...*him* out of my house, please. And have someone trustworthy...is there anyone who matches that description?" she asked suddenly, her sarcastic tone not lost on anyone.

"Me."

"Very well. Please take Eve home."

"I'll be alright," Eve said, those being the first words she had uttered since entering the house a few hours ago. Even then, she had been too speechless to speak, when she was told Spencer was the betrayer and that she was responsible for protecting both Boyd and Grace because they couldn't trust anyone else.

Grace smiled gently at her. "No, you won't be, not for a long time. None of us will. Just promise me you won't do anything stupid, okay?"

Eve nodded. "I promise," she said, and she meant it. But she couldn't say what she really wanted to; she couldn't warn Grace it wasn't her she had to worry about doing something stupid, it was Boyd. Eve could see the expression on his battered face, and she *knew*, even if Grace didn't, that he was planning something. "I think I'll go to see Stella tomorrow."

"Visiting...hours...lunch," Boyd told her.

Eve just nodded again. "I know."

Grace looked from one to the other, sensing she was missing something but far too tired to try and work out what it was. "I think that's a good idea." She hesitated. "Will you be okay alone?"

"I need to be, at least for a while," Eve replied.

"I'll take you home," the Commissioner said. "Don't worry about statement's or anything like that. We'll sort it all out when things calm down."

They left. The paramedics took Spencer's body away and Boyd resisted the urge to kick the dead man in the head before he went. The gun was removed, and two officers helped Boyd back downstairs. Then they all left.*

Grace looked over at Boyd, who was resting on the couch. They had hardly spoken since yesterday, words seeming inadequate to the pain they were both feeling over the loss of Spencer. It wasn't so much his death, it was the fact he had allowed ambition to fester into something evil within him, which then twisted his character to something dark. Even if he had lived, he would have still been lost to them. But how he had fallen so far without anyone noticing was a mystery to them both, and Grace in particular felt as though she had failed him.

Now, as she watched Boyd finally relax and settle into a calm sleep, she felt as though she had failed him too. She couldn't save him body, wasn't sure she could even save his soul, and she felt too damn tired to even try any more. Setting the cup down on the table, Grace curled up properly in the armchair, just to rest her eyes. Five minutes later, she was fast asleep.

From across the room, Boyd's single good eye opened. He had watched Grace sitting, staring and thinking, his eye just open a slit, but because of his swollen face, she couldn't tell if he was asleep or not. He wasn't, nor had he been. He couldn't. If he slept, he might not wake up again and there was still an order of business to finish. Rising as silently as possible, Boyd took one last longing look at Grace before slipping out of the house.

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Grace was furious with herself. She had awoken to find Boyd gone, and wondered how the hell he had managed to get out of the house without her hearing him. Then she wondered exactly where he had gotten to, but she reminded herself quickly that this was Boyd and that was the answer to both questions. If he wanted to do something, he would find a way. Grace had been so preoccupied with the events of the previous day that she hadn't noticed whether Boyd intended to do something stupid instead of Eve, but now she thought about it, she realised *he* was the one that needed watching, not *her*. Grace's problem was she still had so many unanswered questions regarding Spencer's 'grand plan of domination', as she had taken to thinking of it, and she had to keep reminding herself that it was real life, not Hollywood. In real life the 'bad guy' didn't stand there for half an hour explaining everything he had done and why he had done it; more often than not, solving a case didn't mean getting all the answers because invariably, someone would take those answers to the grave with them. And that was what Spencer had done. Whatever had been left unanswered would remain so and Grace had to keep telling her analytical mind to just leave things well alone.

She hadn't slept the night before, and blamed sheer exhaustion for falling into such a deep sleep that morning. Grace was convinced that if she had been even an iota less tired, Boyd would never have gotten passed her. But he had and now she had to find him. She was tempted to phone Eve, but she doubted he would have gone there.

*"Visiting...hours...lunch," Boyd told her.

Eve just nodded again. "I know."*

It was so clear to her now, now she knew what she was looking for, and less than five minutes later, Grace was out of the house and on her way to the hospital. She held out the hope that everything was alright because no one had phoned her to tell her otherwise, and if Boyd had been gone as long as she thought he had – she had been asleep for four hours and he could have left as soon as she was asleep – he would have had plenty of time to cause mischief. Pulling into the hospital car park, Grace calmed herself and walked into reception. A quick flash of her Home Office badge and a thirty second explanation of how she fitted into Stella's life, and Grace was on her way to the secure room the DC was staying.

But her blood ran cold as she turned the corridor; no guards, and no one to ask why there weren't any officers stationed outside Stella's room. Steeling herself for the worst, Grace pushed open the door and walked in. There were only two occupants of the room, and both seemed to be sleeping. Grace let out the break she hadn't realised she was holding, and leant against the door before her legs gave way. Calming herself, she let a slow smile spread across her face as she took in the sight before her. Stella was lay with her left hand, the arm in a cast, resting on her stomach while her right hand was somewhere underneath Boyd. He was sat in a chair next to the bed, his left arm tucked into his chest, and Grace assumed that Stella's hand was enclosed within his left. His right arm was draped next to her, his head resting on the covers. It was a peaceful scene.

The smile slid from Grace's face the same time the colour drained away. It was *too* peaceful; as she listened, she found she couldn't hear any breathing. Her whole being suddenly began to shake violently and she forced herself to inch further into the room. And that was when she saw two things she should have seen the moment she walked in; a hypodermic syringe and a note. Where Boyd got the needle from or what he filled it with to give himself and Stella a lethal dosage, Grace didn't know, nor was it important. The fact remained he had done it. With a trembling hand, she reached for the note.

*Grace,

Stella's is writing this for me because, obviously, I can't, though it isn't easy for her either so I'll make this short. Whatever happens, she agrees with it. She woke up as I got here and we talked a little. I told her my plan and she...well, she thanked me. You'll probably do the opposite.

I have to do this, for both myself and Stella, because things will never be the same for either of us ever again. It's possible I could have survived, maybe struggled on for days or even weeks, undergone so much surgery so I could have a life again, but it wouldn't have been a life. Even with all your qualifications and experience, and even with how much you care for us both, I don't expect you to understand that, Grace. Simply put, both Stella and I are damaged beyond repair, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well. We would have no kind of quality of life, not even with you and Eve around all the time.

I never thought I would say this to anyone ever again, but I love you, Grace, and I'm sorry, for everything.

Peter*

Grace sat down heavily next to Boyd and lightly fingered his hair. "You fool," she murmured, tears flowing down her face, her voice choked with emotion. "You didn't have to do this on your own; I would have come with you. I meant what I said before about not wanting to be separated from you. Because like it or not...*believe* it or not, I love you."

Grace felt her heart breaking as she knew it would do when she was left without him and she gripped the note tightly, almost tearing it between her fingers. Through her tears, she stared at the world with blurry vision, Boyd and Stella's injuries almost disappearing from view. The light glinted off something, catching her eye, and letting go of the note, Grace wiped her eyes roughly, then searched for the object again with clear sight. And then she saw it; the needle Boyd had used on himself and Stella. Her heart skipped a beat and with trembling fingers, she reached for it. At first glance, it looked empty and Grace almost screamed. But then, looking again, she saw there was a tiny bit left; just enough for one person. The tension and pain ebbed from her body as a sense of calm and purpose flooded her. Grace took hold of the needle properly and smiled. *Now* everything would be alright.

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As soon as Even entered the room, she knew. She didn't need to check anyone's pulse or read the note so obviously displayed. A single glance told her everything she needed to know: the way Boyd was slumped at the edge of Stella's bed, trying to protect her, holding her hand; the way Grace was sat so close to him, her head on his shoulder, her hand holding his, her other one grasping Stella's; and the DC, lay so quiet and peaceful on the bed, her expression now one of serenity. And to Eve, that was all that mattered. So she didn't bother to call anyone, didn't bother to shout or alert the nurses. There was no point now anyway; no amount of resuscitation would bring any of them back. She just backed out of the room quietly, swallowed her tears, and walked briskly back to the car park.

Her decision had been made the moment she shot Spencer, but knowing she still had friends made her hesitate. Now, though, there was nothing to hold her back; nothing left for her, but Eve didn't mind. She had a date with her own needle, and soon, she would be together again with Stella and Grace, and Boyd as well. That thought made her smile as she started to drive home, the thought of a place where she would be with her friends again, where there was no pain, and where 'verraden' had no meaning.

FIN


End file.
